The Fine Art of Denial
by Jubalii
Summary: There are 12 steps of intimacy. More like: there are 12 skipping stones that one could circumnavigate, if only they weren't wrapped up in a complete and utter denial of their feelings for each other.
1. Eyes to Eyes

**Author's Note:**

 _I sin,  
you sin,  
we all sin_ _for_ the cheap thrills that come from reading made up nonprofit stories about our favorite fandom's characters.

* * *

"Who are you?" Mouth twisted, eyes blazing, claws clicking rhythmically against the armrest of her throne; she sat tall and proud in the face of this—this _insolence_. The Shade stood an arm's breadth from her, arms and hands hidden in the long sleeves of the purple cloak, face hidden by the dark hood. It wasn't wearing its mask, for some odd reason.

"I know who you are." She knew he couldn't see her eyes beneath the metal plate of her mask, but she still averted her gaze for the quickest moment. What was he talking about? She didn't recognize this Shade, now that she thought about it. Even so, the voice was familiar. Perhaps it was one of the older Shades who had almost completed his term? That would be foolish, going against the Great Witch mere weeks from freedom. She plastered a broad grin on her face, hand raised in a welcoming gesture.

"Oh really?" she sneered, motioning for him to come closer. He moved a step further, but his face was thrown into darker shadow and she couldn't see anything other than the angled chin and a dark frown. "Do tell, my Shade. And take off your hood; I want to see your face as you tell me of your… _revelations_." There was a pause, and then the arms rose to throw back the hood. There was a flash of orange and silver, and then she stared up at the steely gray eyes she knew too well. "Y-you!"

"I know," he repeated slowly, "who you are." Her heart skipped a beat and then began to thunder against her ribcage, a cold sweat breaking out across her brow. How— _how_?! She'd been so careful, making doubly—triply!—sure that she hadn't been followed every time she left the city. She gulped, licking her lips. No, he was bluffing. If she gave him an inch, he'd know that his doubts were correct.

"How dare you come here, Inquisitor!" she snarled, sitting up even straighter as she pointed at him. "You'll pay for this dearly, impertinent knight!" Even in her shock, the persona of the Great Witch shined through clear as day. It was the result of years of practice, perfected to the point that it was nearly an adjunct to her own personality.

He stared at her with a cryptic expression, not revealing anything about his thoughts. His eyes somehow caught hers through the mask and she froze, paralyzed from… from what? Fear? No, she wasn't afraid of _him._ If anything, she'd just have to capture him and lock him in the dungeon until she could get the Storyteller to hypnotize him. Surely he wouldn't be that hard to overpower? Besides, _how_ could he know that she was the Great Witch? She was going to call his bluff.

"Well?" she snapped as he kept his silence. "Who am I, Sir Knight?" He stepped forward without a word, eyes darkening. She had to crane her neck to look at him, the cones of her elaborate mask hitting the back of the throne. "Speak my name, if you dare." A hand hit the plush back of the chair near her face, knee balancing on the cushion as he effectively boxed her in. She stifled a gasp, eyes widening. _What on earth!?_ She pressed herself into the chair away from him, her arms lying like lead weights on the armrests. They wouldn't respond to her mental screams to push him away.

"Take off the mask," he ordered. _As if he has any right to give orders! If he really knows who I am, then he knows that_ _ **I'm**_ _in charge!_ Before she could respond, the fingers of his free hand found the edge of her mask and tugged almost teasingly. The air between them electrified and she fought for breath, mouth falling open absently. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, the expression on his face both stern and curious. "Tis no help to you, now that I've found you out."

"Wh—I, I can't—" She couldn't even form proper words now, it seemed. Her mouth was dry, making swallowing difficult. His hand trailed down her cheek to her jaw, and then even further. She arched her neck as he pressed his fingers beneath the high collar, hovering over her racing pulse. The metal should have cooled her skin, but every place he touched burned with a hellfire that she couldn't escape, even if she wanted to. He leaned in and her eyes fluttered closed, waiting with agonizing anticipation for the touch of his lips. His breath wafted across her cheeks and she shivered, the sensation almost too much as he finally—

"Eve? _Eveee….._ " A finger poked her cheek and she came back to reality, sitting up straight in her desk chair. Espella leaned over, brows arched as she grinned. "Are you in there?" She wagged her finger as if silently scolding her best friend for daydreaming at work. "I _asked_ if you were free to come to the bakery this afternoon. You haven't come these three or four days past."

"Oh! I—er," She thought quickly for an excuse. "I'm sorry, Espella, but… but it's late," she finished lamely, biting her lip. Espella made a confused noise, her hands on her hips as she tilted her head.

"Huh? What do you mean, late?" she asked honestly. "You've gone home after sundown before. What's the matter now?" Her brow furrowed. "No one's accosted you on the path, have they?" she asked quickly. Her eyes held the fear of a not-so-distant memory. "I'll tell Father if they have, you know."

"That's not it," Eve assured her. "Trust me: if anyone dared lay a hand on me, they'd find themselves in the dungeons before they could blink twice." Espella giggled and nodded.

"Well, as long as you're okay. You really should come, though," she added, jumping back to her offer. "Besides, you don't want to miss seeing a certain _someone_ , do you?" She gave a very unsubtle wink. Eve froze in her chair before forcing her muscles to relax.

"I—have no clue what you mean, Espella," she lied easily, stacking the day's papers into a neat order and placing them at the edge of the desk. She returned her quill to its holder and wiped stray shavings from the polished surface. She didn't dare leave her desk in complete disarray like some people. She glared disapprovingly at the overrun, cracked piece of furniture directly across from her seat. _What an eyesore…._

"Eh?" Espella began to laugh. "Don't be so coy. It's not like I don't already know." Inhaling quickly, Eve looked to the ceiling before standing and pushing in her chair.

"Know what, may I ask?"

"That you like Sir Barnham!" she exclaimed in answer, throwing up her hands. "After the incident on your birthday, it's very clear that you're not entirely indifferent about him."

"Of course I like him," Eve replied smartly, one hand on her chair as she brushed back a stray strand of hair. "After all, Zacharias is an excellent coworker and he does a good job with the city's affairs. It would be hard to hate him, though I may not have liked him as much before."

"Eve Belduke, you _stubborn ox_!" Espella crossed her arms, glaring sternly in a decent imitation of Mrs. Eclaire. "You are the most obstinate woman in all of Labyrinthia!" she declared. "Just admit that you have feelings for him; it's not that hard!" Eve sighed huffily, closing her eyes and summoning her patience. Why did Espella even care that much? Maybe they were good friends again, but that didn't mean the teen had to know everything! When she didn't answer, Espella moved to different, more childish methods.

"Eve and Sir Barnham, sitting in a tree!" she chanted in a singsong tone, clapping in time to the beat. Eve felt her muscles tensing again, grinding her teeth as she fought the urge to clap her hand over the younger girl's mouth. Even after brainwashing every citizen that passed through the borders, that stupid schoolyard tactic had still made its way into the local vernacular. It was nearly impossible to get rid of, it seemed. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"Espella, please!" She grabbed for her, but the girl danced out of the way and evaded her grasp by the hem of her cloak. "Act your age, alright?" she growled warningly.

"Mrs. Eve Barnham—oh, I like that!" She sighed dramatically, doing all but pirouetting just out of reach.

"Stop it, I said!" Her face was _really_ red now, embarrassment burning through her as she chased her friend around the desk. Where was that damn mutt when you needed him? He was always managing to trip her up: why not Espella too?

"My my, so defensive!" Espella put a finger to chin. "Why is that, I wonder? Tell me, is it because you want his arms wrapped around you?" She hugged her own thin frame for emphasis as she winked again. "Or maybe you just love the way he says your name, _Miss Eve_ ," she crooned in a rather impressive mockery of his deeper voice, despite having to dive around the chair to avoid the grabbing hands. "Does your heart yearn for his lingering touch?" she continued as she righted herself and yanked her cloak to the side, quoting one of the newer romantic ballads floating around the local bards (and parrots).

"That is _enough_!" She was going to lock Espella in the dungeons for this! The girl laughed harder, leaning on the desk tauntingly.

"His heart burns for _yo-ou_ ," she cooed, twirling a plait around her finger innocently. "In fact, I've heard him say—"

"Dearie, dearie me…." Both women stopped in their tracks, turning as one to the doorway where the town's resident primary schoolteacher stood. The tiny glasses glinted in the torchlight as she looked at them, her lips tightened into a thin line. Espella managed to look repentant, getting off of the desk and smoothing out her rumpled skirt with her hands. Eve's heart felt as though it was clenched in an icy hand. _How long has she been standing there?!_ For what seemed like eternity, all was silent.

"Little girls who gossip," Ms. Primstone began with quiet conviction, "are those who will end up with absent thoughts," she brandished her baton at Espella, "and broken hearts." The willowy rod swung to Eve. "Furthermore, pining over young men is neither practical nor acceptable, and should therefore be avoided. This _will_ be on the test."

"Yes, ma'am," Espella mumbled obediently, her cheeks still dusted with a rosy hue. Eve forced a smile onto her face as she turned to fully address the older woman. Her schooling had been over longer than Espella's; long enough to address the teacher as an equal instead of as a better.

"Ms. Primstone," she greeted politely. "Is there something that you needed from me? I'll be glad to assist you." The best thing to do was to smile and pretend it never happened, in this case. The teacher glared at them a moment longer before sniffing haughtily and using the baton to push her glasses up her nose.

"Not at all, High Inquisitor," she replied standoffishly, lips pursed. Like most of the town, she seemed to forget that Eve was no longer an Inquisitor at all. Over half of them still addressed her as Lady Darklaw, even though her real name was out in the open. A scant few settled on Miss Eve instead, preferring a more informal name. "I was on my way to theatre practice, and I heard such a _commotion_ coming from this direction that I became concerned. Truly, 'tis not the sort of sound that is supposed to be coming from an office setting," she rebuked with another, longer sniff. "Naturally, I came to see what the matter was." _So you came to stick your nose in my business_ , Eve thought crossly. _You probably thought that Zacharias and I were fighting and wanted to get some gossiping material yourself._ Still, the civilized smile remained.

"Well, since there's no emergency," the teacher finished (somewhat disappointedly), "I'll be taking my leave. I hate being late for practice. Punctuality—as you well know, my dear High Inquisitor—is of the utmost essence!"

"We were just leaving ourselves," Espella blurted out, clearly uncomfortable with staying another moment in the room. "It's getting late, after all." _Stealing my excuses, now?_ Eve sighed as she checked her desk one last time for order before following Espella out the door. As she passed across the threshold, the baton smacked her lightly on her backside and she jumped. She twisted around in surprise to see Ms. Primstone eyeing her thoughtfully, finger tapping her chin.

"Take care in pursuing young knights, my dear," she finally said in an unusually soft voice. Espella had rushed down the hall as fast as a walk could carry her, and was now waiting at the corner that led to the main antechamber with a questioning gaze, unable to hear the conversation. "Men are often prone to flights of fancy, and aiming for the top often creates many enemies out of those that would otherwise be friends." She tilted her head. "It will lead to nothing but trouble," she advised.

"Thank you," Eve managed to sputter. "But I don't think you'll have any reason for alarm." She met the beady gaze steadily, and then the teacher smiled.

"Alright, along with you," she ushered, standing back to let her through and waving her baton, acting as though they were children leaving from school and not two grown women. "Take care on the way home." Espella waved and nodded, trying to redeem herself in her former teacher's eyes before grabbing Eve's hand and yanking her along the corridor.

"What did she say to you?" she asked as they spilled out the front doors into the sunset, surrounded by sleepy woods and the birds' last songs of the day. The Courthouse was bathed in orange, light playing off the lit torches as knights moved through on their rounds and would-be actors trickling in for their weekly rehearsal in the courtroom.

"Nothing of consequence. Just a reminder to behave myself." She waved to Jean Grayerl and Lettie Mailer as the two girls headed into the Courthouse, the courier's bag miraculously empty for once. "She should have been telling _you_ that, after that display back there."

"Oh, don't be angry with me, Eve!" Espella pleaded. "I was only teasing you about all that; don't be cross." She clasped her friend's arm. "Come to the bakery, please!" The look in her eyes suggested that she knew Eve was upset about _something_ , and her friendly jesting had some part to do with it. "Aunt Patty will be happy to see you, and Father might even be there. He comes around a lot more now that he's getting his strength back."

Eve hesitated. She didn't want to hurt Espella's feelings and make her think that she'd gone too far in her teasing (though it had gotten a little out of hand). But she didn't want to go to the bakery, either. There she'd have to face the newest apprentice baker, and after the types of daydreams she'd been having, just looking him in the eyes was difficult. It didn't help that they worked together.

"I don't—" Espella's eyes shimmered in the fading light as she pouted. "Well, just a quick supper wouldn't hurt," she sighed. "But I'm not staying long afterwards." The girl cheered up immediately, linking arms and smiling brightly.

"Great!" she chirped, before biting her lip. "Oh, and Eve, can I ask you something confidentially?"

"What is it?" They began walking towards the town bustling just out of sight behind the trees. Espella leaned in close, eyes checking to make sure they were alone before whispering secretively in her ear.

"Do you ever wonder what he tastes like, all covered in sweat and flour?"

" _Espella Cantabella_!" The girl in question laughed at her shriek all the way home, only stopping when they reached the door of the bakery and Mrs. Eclaire stared at them strangely.

* * *

 _Why is she staring at me?_

Zacharias Barnham was engaged in his usual nightly routine of preparing dough for the next day. Patty had mixed it all together, but it was his job to knead it out and set it aside in covered bowls to rise. It saved them all time in the morning, seeing as they could wake up and begin baking almost immediately. He was always surprised at how much forethought had to go into something as relatively simple as making bread. No wonder Mrs. Eclaire always beat sense into anyone who dared suggest otherwise.

The shop was closed, supper cleaned up, and now Eve and Espella sat talking quietly at the table while he worked. Patty was in the basement, counting up leftover stock and balancing the day's funds. Constantine and Eve the cat were sharing a day-old croissant, both tails wagging as they licked at opposite ends of the slightly stale bread. He concentrated on his dough, rolling and kneading like the baker had taught him when he first expressed interest in working part-time. Even though Eve's birthday had come and gone, he still stayed on at the bakery, helping out in exchange for room and board.

Speaking of Eve… he dusted more flour onto the dough and resumed his motions, not looking up once. He felt eyes burning into his face; ever since they'd cleaned up the last dishes from the supper table, she'd been staring at him. He couldn't understand why; he'd even managed to subtly peek into a dish to make sure there wasn't anything amiss. But his face was free of flour, armor relatively clean, hair in place, and nothing in his teeth. Therefore, there was no reason to be staring him down.

He managed to peer through his lashes as he reached for a bowl to put the finished dough in. Espella elbowed her and whispered something that had to do with flour. To his surprise, Eve blushed—a very pretty color—before rubbing her cheek and looking as though she wanted to do nothing more than hide beneath the table. He looked up at them fully and Espella burst into giggles, hiding her face in one hand as the tips of her ears turned red. Eve glanced back at her before looking at him apologetically.

So it _was_ him they were talking about. It was clear enough from Espella's behavior, at least. He wondered what could be so funny about him that they had to keep it a secret. Those girls… he couldn't understand them sometimes. Even now, her face brighter than Mrs. Eclaire's hair, she still stared at him with an undefinable expression.

He stared back, unsure of what it was that she wanted. Was she trying to tell him something silently? Did she need something? He looked around the counter, trying to see if there was anything obvious that she might want him to bring her. But there was nothing but flour covered surface and a rolling pin. Surely—she didn't want the rolling pin, did she?

She shifted in the chair, and his eyes were drawn to her breasts as they pressed against the table. He looked away quickly, swallowing hard and yanking a new batch of dough out of its container forcefully. If she caught him looking—well, she'd want the rolling pin then, wouldn't she? She'd knock him into the new year, she'd lock him in the dungeons and feed him bread and water, or she'd take a page from Foxy's book and squash him like an insect on the cobblestones outside….

Still, he snuck another peek when her head was turned for good measure. What would it be like to touch them? He knew the basics of it, of course, but he'd never gotten to touch _hers_ , not even accidentally. She always made sure to stand an acceptable distance from him, and they never had to maneuver through tight squeezes together, anyway. Even on the machines that they used to rebuild the town, she'd kept her distance. If his lucky stars had shined on him just once, she might have stumbled into his lap when the crane's motor had busted; instead she had fallen the other way. He'd barely been able to grab her arm and keep himself upright in the seat too.

He turned his mind back to the dough, trying to banish those sorts of thoughts from his head. After the gift-giving fiasco on her birthday, he hadn't been able to pick another good moment to be alone with her, as it were. He'd meant to courageously give her the most perfectly baked éclair in the history of éclairs, confess his feelings and sweep her off her feet in a scene reminiscent of a bard's romance.

But that had fallen through almost before it began. He couldn't even bring up the subject of her birthday before Espella and all her friends had waltzed through, downplayed his gift and practically stomped it in the dust with the flawlessness of their own presents. _Damn_ his strict schooling, and the prejudices against giving gifts to others! Still, she'd accepted his day-old leftover éclair without a big fuss, and had even mentioned to him the next day that it had tasted delicious. He'd stayed on cloud nine the rest of that day, floating in the euphoria that embodied her acceptance of his mediocre pastry.

He hazarded another glance to see her staring at him _again_. This time he didn't look away and her eyes softened, delicate lashes hiding her irises as the barest hint of a smile passed across her lips. His heart thudded once, twice, before resuming its natural rhythm and he licked his lips, feeling the heat rising to his face. She hadn't said a single word to him and already he was blushing like a schoolboy; what was wrong with him? It had to be his earlier thoughts. He scolded himself in a manner more befitting Ms. Primstone: _Lewd thoughts lead to nothing but trouble!_

When she opened her eyes, he found himself arching a brow at her without really thinking about what he was doing. It was a silent query, though he wasn't entirely sure what he might be asking her. The smile spread fully across her face, almost smug in its entirety and certainly full of her usual coolness. He responded with a complacent grin of his own, twisting up the corner of his mouth as he looked away, only to see Espella looking between the two of them with a gleeful expression. She winked at him, blonde braids bouncing as she moved her head, and the moment was lost. He looked back down at the dough, focusing with all his might on kneading the life out of the defenseless hunk of raw bread.

When it was time for bed, her smile was still running circles in his mind. He lay on his back in the dark, remembering the nameless expression combined with the way her body was pressing into the table. He imagined what it would feel like to have those pliant curves pressed up against his body, those eyes staring into him as he touched her bared skin freely. Sighing heavily, he turned onto his side and scratched Constantine behind the ears.

It would be another sleepless night, it seemed.


	2. Hands to Hands

Eve _hated_ him sometimes. It wasn't that he did anything to her directly; it was the way he acted that made her loathe him. During those times, she couldn't stand to look at his stupid face, or to be within a hundred feet of him. Even having him across the room in her office was nearly unbearable. It was even worse that he never seemed to notice her anger; he went about his life clueless to her changing moods. He made it seem that ignorance really _was_ bliss.

She felt it most not in her office, nor in the bakery, but in the streets of town. It never failed that when he wasn't running errands for the bakery or working directly onsite a new reconstruction venture, he was milling about the streets surrounded by his adoring fan club. Of course they never said outright that they were his (unofficial) fan club, but it was still undoubtedly clear to anyone who looked… well, anyone except the knight himself.

She wondered if he ever thought about _why_ the group of young women always stayed close to him whenever he wasn't busy. She was sure that, as innocent as he was, he was merely oblivious to the real scheme behind the dozen or so pairs of fluttering eyelashes. He was amiable with everyone in Labyrinthia, from the palsied old women and gruff elders to the teensy children tagging along with their older siblings on a trip to the market. He treated everyone exactly the same, with pleasant words and a large, friendly smile.

Miss Muffet was at the front of the group, of course. She had probably proclaimed herself the president of the fan club, considering that she was his 'number one fan'. When she and her swarm of fawning cohorts managed to corner him in the streets, she was always the closest and the most forward. She never failed to find some excuse to touch him, patting his breastplate or grabbing his arm, all the while giggling and flashing coy glances from beneath her parasol. Once she'd even devised an excuse to wipe flour off his face, all in the name of perfect, innocent civility.

Ugh, how she hated it all! Was he really so clueless to their flirting, or did he only pretend to be to save them from hurt feelings of rejection? Was he really so gallant that it could be mistaken for naivety? He might simply brush off the bold ploys as friendliness on their part; that was always a possibility. Still, if he _was_ pretending, it only made the women work all the harder to get him to notice them. How… how… how infuriating it all was!

She glared at them from her half-hidden spot behind one of Labyrinthia's many fountains, mouth in a tight line as she watched the distasteful display. He was surrounded by women of various shapes and sizes; there was enough to nearly block off that side of the street as they crowded around, not-so-subtly vying for his full attention. He was talking animatedly to the one on his immediate left—to Muffet's chagrin—and then he smiled as she replied quickly with a blush.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she sniffed derisively. He had to be blind; otherwise he'd see how desperately the poor girl was trying. It was demeaning to act that way, wasn't it? But the young lady didn't seem to notice how stupidly she was acting as she continued to blush and waved his answer away with a quick motion, laughing all the while. He laughed too, shrugging his shoulders.

In the back of her mind, a voice sighed sadly. _Why can't he look at_ _ **me**_ _like that?_ She quickly banished the thought back where it'd come from, tightening her arms over her chest and tossing her head. Why on earth would it matter how he looked at her? After all, there was absolutely nothing between them, no matter what Espella hinted at. They were good coworkers who were also friends outside of the office and sometimes met at the bakery to eat dinner with their other mutual friends.

Yet… it _would_ be nice to have a conversation where he wasn't either staring at his boots or stammering like a fool. He could hardly meet her eyes without losing his train of thought, it seemed, and if they weren't speaking about work he never had anything worthwhile to say to her. She would give her entire house for an hour's time with him where he'd speak to her like Espella spoke to her, friend to friend and not—whatever he thought they were.

She thought back to that night at the bakery a few weeks ago, where he'd caught her eye and—well, she wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but it had felt like they'd had an entirely silent conversation. It hadn't lasted very long, but during that time she'd felt like they were on equal terms for the first time in a long time. It had reminded her of when the town was first liberated of its dark secrets and they were able to speak easily to each other without the pressure of subordinate and superior. She'd kept that vein of free speech, but he'd lost it along the way and couldn't seem to get it back.

But even with all that strange behavior and incomprehensible stuttering, he still spent far more time around her than with all these other women. So why did she feel this way? She looked down at her rippling reflection in the fountain's base, seeing a frustrated, puzzled young women staring back up at her. Was it just because of his brighter attitude around others, or was it something else? Was it really because his attention wasn't on her? No, that wasn't it, she decided firmly. She was _not_ on the same level as those pining women out in the main street.

He said something and the group burst into giggles again; she huffed, glaring at the reflection as though it'd done her a personal wrong. Why did she care so much? She just couldn't figure it out. They weren't a couple; on the contrary, they were the farthest thing from being 'an item', as some of the modern-day people she heard on her various trips to the mainland said. No, he was perfectly free to speak to any woman that he wanted to, just like she was free to speak to any man that _she_ wanted to.

Maybe that's what she needed to do—go find someone else to talk to. It had been quite a while since she'd made a trip to the garrison, hadn't it? She could say hello to the Storyteller, converse with some of the knights to make sure they were still up to par, and maybe even visit the Archives afterwards, if it wasn't too late. It was a perfect day for such a thing, seeing as Espella was busy helping out in the bakery and she was caught up on her workload at the office.

Yes, that sounded like a plan. She stood from the fountain, a serene smile spreading across her face. She stepped out into the main road, walking calmly as she ignored the ex-Inquisitor and his little fan club. She could probably get by without being noticed by any of them; she had lots of practice in being unnoticed while she did things, considering the double life she led before. When she neared them they laughed again and she unconsciously picked up the pace, eyes locked on the road ahead. It wasn't likely that they were talking about her, but all the same she didn't like to hear them laughing when she was nearby.

"Miss Eve?" She never broke stride, even when she heard him call her name. "Hey, Miss Eve!" he called louder, and she was forced to slow down; there was no way she couldn't have heard that. Taking a deep breath, she turned on her heel and managed to plaster what she hoped was a friendly expression on her face.

"Good afternoon Zacharias, everyone," she greeted the small crowd politely. Perhaps her civility sounded forced, but she was trying her hardest to keep them from finding anything to laugh at later. The women threw out a few polite words of their own and seemed to be trying to block him in, but he wound his way through them and jogged towards her. "I thought you'd be working today," she said when he neared her.

"No, 'tis my day off…" Just like that, he lapsed into silence and stood in front of her awkwardly. She bit her lip and looked around for something else to say, waiting for him to explain why he called her back. A moment passed with nothing said between them, and she heard the women behind him whispering amongst themselves. She finally resigned him to his fate and watched mercilessly as he battled with his words, her gaze never wavering, even for a moment. As much as she hated to admit it, she liked the clothes he wore when he didn't don his armor. Even the tie suited him, though she'd never have imagined him to be the type that would look at a tie, much less wear one.

"Did you needme for something?" she sighed when he showed no sign of letting up. He looked up at her and his mouth worked wordlessly.

"Ah—erm—oh!" His eyes gleamed with something akin to inspiration. "As a matter of fact, I've got something to show you!" he announced happily. "It's at the garrison, if you've got the time to come with me and see it." He hesitated. "Were you headed anywhere important just now?"

"No," she replied slowly, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind. "I was just headed to the garrison myself, for a change of pace." She felt the need to add something else, but nothing came to mind; she crossed her arms again, her foot rising to scratch her calf. _What could he possibly want to show me there, of all places?_

"Perfect!" he exclaimed, throwing her off guard as he grabbed her hand. "Let's go together." She tried to answer, but her mind was frozen in shock. She'd only held his hand once before, when she'd nearly fallen off one of the machines after a malfunction and he'd caught her. He'd been wearing his armor then, though; the cool metal had made her shiver as he had caught her fingers in an iron grip. Now it was his bare palm against hers, warm and calloused from years of hard work. It still sent a shiver up her spine, but for an entirely different reason.

"A-alright," she stammered. A dozen pairs of eyes glared at their combined hands, and she felt the growing tension from the group of women. She didn't dare look in their direction; Barnham didn't seem to notice the pressure in the air. He merely grinned and began to tug her along in the direction of the garrison, turning back once to bid his goodbyes to the women he'd left behind.

He slowed once they passed through an alley into the road leading past the marketplace, letting her catch up to walk alongside of him. She kept expecting him to release her hand, but he still held it tightly as they maneuvered around goats and children running through the streets, ducking under overhangs as greengrocers called their wares to the patrons searching for the best deals. Suddenly she couldn't bear to look at him, staring down at the cobblestones and letting him lead her through the winding streets. Why was this such a big deal to her? All he was doing was holding her hand. It wasn't like he had his arm around her waist or anything. It was a completely innocent gesture between friends; that was all…. right?

She didn't want anyone to jump to conclusions between them. When people jumped to conclusions, they were prone to gossip. The last thing she wanted was her interpersonal relationships to be broadcasted across town; even then, half of it wouldn't be right. They'd whisper in the alleyways about secret trysts when they were both Inquisitors, and in the tavern there'd be open discussion on issues of dominance in the bedroom. It would be more than she could bear; she wouldn't be able to walk down the street without hearing clucking housewives and seeing young men's grinning faces.

 _Honestly, all that from a little handholding? You're getting too worked up over this, you know,_ her inner self scoffed. _Look around you; no one's noticing the two of you! And besides, so what if they talk? It'll only be a week or two before they find something new to say._ Of course she knew that it was silly to think so drastically, but she couldn't help it. She was shy enough as it was; if people talked about her, she'd be walking around with a permanent blush on her face!

He finally let go of her hand when they neared the garrison gates and she pulled her arm close to her side, working her fingers as though trying to erase the feel of his touch. The knights saluted them and then opened the doors for them to pass through. On the other side, it was business as usual as metal-clad men ran to and fro, sparring or practicing formations as they worked tirelessly. Even though the Order didn't have to protect the city from witches anymore, they'd become a major tourist attraction. For some reason, modern people loved coming to gawk at the knights as they went around on their daily business or performed their duties during the few ceremonies open to the public that lived beyond the town's walls.

"Stay here," he ordered as he moved ahead. "I'm going to go make sure everything's in order." Before she could protest he was gone, lost in a crowd of armor as he all but ran towards the center of the garrison. She stayed put, watching the bustle with a sense of interest.

"Good afternoon, Lady Darklaw." She turned to see the leader of the so-called Vigilantes, the only one who ever seemed to have any sense. What was his name again? Boister? Bustlem? He saluted her with a stern expression carved onto his features. _Boistrum; that's it._

"Good afternoon. I see that you're well," she replied in turn, offering her usual cool smile. She really had to try and talk to these people; the Storyteller had told her once that shyness could be overcome by putting yourself out there and conversing with others.

"I am, very much so." He drew himself up proudly. "I've never been busier; The Storytell—er, Mr. Cantabella, that is—has put me in charge of coming up with the formations for a new tourist demonstration." She felt the smile slip from her face. They could all remember not to call him the Storyteller anymore, but they couldn't remember that her name wasn't Darklaw?

"I see. And how is that going for you? Have you had a lot of luck?" Personally, she didn't see Boistrum as the creative type. However, if Espella's father saw fit to put him at the head of the project, who was she to say no? Maybe he had some hidden talent she didn't know about.

"Wonderfully, just wonderfully," he said with a vigorous nod. "I—oi! Come here, you two!" She turned to see two of the other Vigilantes stop walking and obey their leader. One she knew as Lottalance, but the other she didn't recognize. A moment's thought made her realize that the only reason she didn't know him was because his face was often in the dirt after voluntarily submitting to that brash woman's heel stomps. "Show the High Inquisitor the bridge of our formation."

The two men saluted and then stepped in time to imaginary music, performing a surprisingly well-thought-out series of steps that resembled something from the little figures on a cuckoo clock before stopping again. She applauded, thoroughly impressed. Perhaps Arthur knew what he was doing after all when he assigned the blonde man to the job.

"That's very good," she admitted when she finished clapping. "I'm sure it'll be quite a sight when it's finished."

"The Captain worked hard on this," Lottalance answered. "It's our sworn duty to uphold his visionary thoughts with our hard work!" She was forced to lean back as his next salute got a little out of hand and he off-balanced himself.

"Well, I'm proud that you take this so seriously," she finally said, not sure of what else to do. This seemed to be the right thing to say, however; the men fairly glowed with pride, twin beams of a smile shining from beneath their helmets. The one who liked to be stomped took her hand in a loose shake.

"Who can blame us when we have such good role models?" he laughed good-naturedly. "You, and the Captain and Sir Barnham… for as long as I remember, I always wanted to be a knight so that I could be someone to look up to, too. Its hard work, but I love every moment of it and now I'm inspiring other people to be knights... I guess I really should thank you for being sort of an idol to me," he admitted sheepishly, the visible parts of his cheeks glowing bright pink.

"Oh—I—" She was beyond flattered, but had no idea how to convey it. So instead she just stood in place, the coolness from the metal hand seeping into her palm. "Thank you?" she offered, not sure if this was something you thanked someone for. But the man only smiled harder, giving her hand another small shake.

A throat cleared meaningfully behind them and they all turned to see Barnham standing there. Eve blinked in surprise at the heated look he was throwing at the poor man still holding her hand. She felt the same violent tension that she'd felt earlier with the women; the man caught on quickly, nearly throwing her hand away from him as he and Lottalance made themselves scarce. Even Boistrum seemed affected, backing away a half-step in a clear nonverbal sign of surrender.

"Good afternoon, Sir Barham. I was just telling Eve about my preparations for the—er, the demonstration." His voice trailed off as Barnham's gaze moved from the retreating knights to his face, looking him over once before stepping forward.

"Yes, and 'twould be a shame for me to hold you back from your work any longer," he replied almost coldly. "I've just come to take Miss Eve where she needs to go." There was something hidden in his tone that she couldn't quite understand, but the meaning seemed to pass from man to man easily enough and realization crept over her. Was he… no, he wasn't _threatening_ him, per say, but there was something very close to a challenge in the words. Boistrum responded with a low, respectful bow to him and a farewell salute to her before following his men across the grounds. Barnham watched for a moment before turning to her.

"Come on; it's this way," he said in a more subdued tone. She didn't follow him, and after a few moments he turned back around to look questioningly at her. "Miss Eve?"

"What was that?" she demanded to know, sweeping her arm across as if gathering up the entire spectacle into a neat pile. He considered her question, looking around the now-deserted stretch of ground before licking his lips. "Zacharias," She nearly smiled at the implications of his actions. "Are you _jealous_?"

" _What_?!" he squawked, face turning as red as his hair as he looked around quickly to make sure no one had heard her accusation. "That's—That's absurd! What cause to I have to be jealous of them?" he protested, taking a step closer to her.

"Well, you looked like you might just attack that poor boy," she noted, trying to hide her smile. So he was jealous of that little knight holding her hand, even for a moment. Was he the only one who could touch her now? What a silly notion! Still, it cheered her in a way that she couldn't explain. Somehow she thought that he wouldn't make such a scene for any of those other women…. "Tell me, why did you scare him off like that if you weren't just a little bit jealous?"

"I'm not—I have no need to be—" He paused. "Jealousy has no place on the battlefield! It skews the mind and creates unneeded tension!" he declared, rattling off another one of his Knightly Honor spiels. She stared at him and he wilted under her knowing look. "Ah, er… come along. We have to hurry." He turned and began to walk even more quickly than before, forcing her to jog to keep up with him. She could hardly keep in her laughter as she saw how red the back of his neck was, knowing that his face was still burning even if she couldn't see it.

He led her to the stables. It was surprisingly empty, the usual caretakers nowhere in sight. She breathed in the musty smell of hay and horse and manure, wrinkling her nose. One never got used to a barnyard stench, no matter how medievally one lived. The horses shuffled in their stalls, munching on their hay or standing quietly, their big eyes watching her as they passed by.

"Here." He held a finger to his lips as he motioned to the last stall, speaking in a whisper. "Come and see." She followed obediently to the heavy wooden gate; it was high enough that she could easily rest her arms on it without having to bend over any. Inside, one of the great horses that pulled the Storyteller's float in the Parade was standing, nuzzling a spindly-legged foal. Barnham was gracing it with his usual ridiculous grin, watching as it walked on its wobbly legs and stood shaking next to its mother. "She was born last night. Isn't she nice?"

"Very cute," Eve agreed as she leaned on the gate. He was standing close enough that she could smell the bakery on his clothes over the stable odor. "Why did you want to show me this?"

"Espella told me that you two visit the stables a lot, so I thought you must like the horses."

"Well, I can see the logic there, but Espella likes the horses more than I do." His face fell and she chuckled. "That's not to say that I _hate_ them, Zacharias. Don't look so down. In fact, I'm glad you showed her to me. I might not have known about it otherwise."

"O-of course!" He brightened back up and reached out to pet the mother horse's nose. "Anytime. I enjoy spending time with you." He pulled his hand back and she watched his face for some kind of clue to what he might have meant. He meant spending time with her as friends, right? Or was that an opening for him to admit that he wanted to spend even _more_ time with her?

He caught her eye and the smile faded somewhat while they stared at each other. She raised a brow in silent query, wondering what was so strange about her face that he refused to look away. His gaze slid from her eyes to her lips and he took a hesitant step forward. His eyes met hers again and she couldn't look away. His hand covered hers on top of the gate and squeezed gently as he leaned down. His breath wafted across her cheeks and her trancelike state was broken; she took two steps back, putting a reasonable amount of space between them again.

Her heart was thundering, knees trembling as she took a deep breath. He'd almost—he'd tried to _kiss_ her! She finally mustered enough courage to look back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He was still staring at her, expression stoic and unreadable. She gulped, her mind stuck like the gears of a jammed machine, trying its best to come up with a solution and failing miserably.

"I—I have to go." His shoulders slumped and he nodded, taking his hand away from hers and distancing himself. Her heart clenched in her chest and she opened her mouth and closed it again, wishing that there was something to say. What could she say? She'd just rejected him, hadn't she? _It's not what you think it means._ That sounded too corny. _I'm not ready._ That sounded like another rejection entirely. _Don't be angry._ That was too pleading. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'll be in the office for the morning," he replied quietly.

"Zacharias…" He looked up at her and her heart tightened further. She'd hurt his feelings. "Please. I—you caught me off guard and I—" She blushed and crossed her arms. "You just caught me off guard. Stop moping."

"Off guard?" She reached over and patted his shoulder comfortingly. Before she could pull away he caught her hand and held it in his, looking down at it. "I thought—never mind." His thumb traced the line down her palm and she felt her breath catch in her throat at the ticklish feeling. It sent a jolt of electricity right to her spine and she allowed herself the briefest tremor. He must have felt it, for he glanced back up at her and grinned; this time his lips held a more mischievous edge.

"What did you think?" He shook his head dismissively and she tried to back away, but he held her hand fast. "I've got other matters to attend to; you have to let me go."

"Before you go…" He bent his head and quickly pressed his lips to her palm. She swore that her heart stopped, refusing to beat until he closed her fingers around her palm. "Here; take it with you to use at your convenience, so that I won't catch you off guard again." He released her hand and turned back to the horses, reaching for its velvet nose once more. "Good day, Miss Eve."

"G-g-good—farewell." She left the stables without looking back, keeping her head down as she pressed on through the garrison gates. When she passed onto the road out of the town and into the woods she began to jog, then to run. Soon she was sprinting through the forest, dodging limbs and vines as she stumbled over the root-covered paths. She ran through the old Shade village where a few long-standing members still lived; they called out to her, alarmed at her speed and wondering if something was chasing her, but she didn't stop. Past the ruins, past the river, past the fields until her own house was upon her.

She ran through the front door and slammed it behind her, leaning against the cool wood as she gasped for air. She sank to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and struggling to catch her breath; she realized that her hand was still clenched into a tight fist and forced her fingers to let go, wiping her damp palms on her knees. She heard the blood rushing in her ears, face on fire and mind awhirl with bewilderment.

 _My God, Espella's right,_ she moaned internally, burying her face in her arms as she rested her forehead against her knees. _I_ _ **do**_ _like the way he says my name!_


	3. Mouths to Mouths

Eve had never been pushed into her own bedroom so unceremoniously. She nearly tumbled onto the rug, but she caught herself on one of the bedposts. Turning around, she watched Espella slam the door shut and turn around to lean against it, eyeing her best friend with a sly grin.

"Espella, what on earth is the matter with you?" Eve scolded gently, brushing the front of her outfit off. She took off her maroon cloak and hung it over her old Parade outfit—she still wore the heavy getup on ceremonial days, but not as often as she used to. "First you make me run all the way home, then you try to throw me onto the floor, and still you won't tell me what this 'surprise' of yours is!" She was still reeling from Barnham's surprise (well, not so much the surprise as the thing that happened afterwards) and she wasn't too keen on Espella's apparent need for secrecy. The young girl could be quite underhanded at times!

"Before I show you…" Espella paused, a solemn look darkening her features as she pointed one ominous finger at her friend. "You must swear by the fires of Labyrinthia that you will never, _ever_ tell anyone about what I'm going to show you." She looked so much like her father, domineering and stern, that Eve felt a small shiver of trepidation run up her spine. _What the hell is she about to show me? A piece of blackmail evidence? Something related to a crime? Is it a picture of someone doing something illegal?_

"A-alright." She nodded, but Espella shook her head, eyes glowing menacingly.

" _Swear it_ , Eve Belduke." Eve gulped and raised her right hand, every gut instinct she had telling her that whatever Espella was about to reveal, it couldn't be anything paltry.

"I swear my oath by the sacred fires of Labyrinthia that I will never tell anyone about what goes on between us in this room today," she swore, honesty ringing in every word. Espella brightened immediately, as though a switch in her mind was flipped.

"Great! Come sit on the bed and I'll show you… _the book_." _T-the book?!_ Eve sat on the edge of the bed, rumpling her bedclothes in the process. She tried to straighten them back out, but the moment the wrinkle was gone Espella bounced on the bed next to her and twelve more arose. She sighed and tried to ignore it, wondering what book Espella had that was so important that she had to swear on it. The only thing that came to mind was a filing system of Labyrinthian contracts, but surely she wouldn't disobey her father and steal it from the locked rooms in the Archives… would she? It was forbidden for them to look through the contracts for security purposes, but would Espella obey?

"Espella, you didn't get this—whatever it is—illegally, did you?" Eve glanced at her with a firm expression. "Even if I'm not an Inquisitor anymore, I still won't break the rules with you." Espella pursed her lips and rolled her eyes.

"It won't get you in trouble, Eve." She hesitated and then arched a brow. "Unless you tell on me, that is." Eve shook her head and she turned her body towards her, leaning in confidentially even though there was no one else in the house. "Alright, so I was at Dad's, going through some of Mom's old things." She frowned. "I don't really remember Mom that much, but when I look at her dresses, sometimes I wonder if I do remember her a little more than I think."

Eve frowned too, shoulders slumping as she looked down at her lap. Her hands fisted together, the scar of fire still visible on her skin. That was the last time she'd broken the rules with Espella, and the guilt of it all still ate at her heart. There were so many what-ifs that ran through her mind on occasion; without their disobedience, both girls would still have their mothers. Espella wouldn't have had to deal with years of being feared, of her father slowly distancing himself in his castle as the town became his life, and she wouldn't have had to push back her feelings to help take care of everything. She'd probably still have her father, too.

But without that horrible incident, they wouldn't have many other things. They wouldn't have Labyrinthia as they knew it. They wouldn't have made such wonderful friends of the Professor and Luke, or that Blue Defender and his young assistant. She wouldn't even have Barnham… though at the moment, that might be something nice. Ever since their little meeting in the stable a week or so ago, life had become so awkward! He never said anything outright about it, and she never brought it up either, but it hung in the air between them like a thick miasma, keeping them from speaking much at all. She didn't want him to think she was ignoring him, but what could she say?

"Anyway," Espella continued, clearing her throat, "I was going through her things, and I found a stack of books." She began to giggle. "And I didn't know what it was at first, but when I saw…." She trailed off, unable to go on as she hid her face in her hands. "Just—just look! We don't have anything like it here, but— _teehee_!" She pulled a book out of the pocket of her cloak and handed it to Eve before burying her face in her hands again.

Eve stared at the book, unsure what to think. It was about the size of her hand, but it was a few inches thick to make up for the difference. Unlike the tomes in the Archives, this book had no hard front and back covers; instead it was flimsy and when she shook it, the pages flopped with a strange sound. The back of the book had large, swirling calligraphy detailing many people's names, along with a small corner where there was a large section of black lines on a white background, and above the numbers £10.45 were written in small black ink. Above the white box, a small red sticker had 'CLEARANCE' written on it. She turned the book over in her hands.

" _A Blooming Flower of Passion: Nine Short Stories to Rouse the Senses_." The cover was a bouquet of flowers in various shades of pink and red, and in the background stood beautiful, tanned people in white clothes dancing on a sunset-lit shoreline. She wrinkled her nose in confusion. "What on earth?" Espella only laughed harder, and when she pulled her face up from her hands, everything from the tips of her ears to her chin was bright pink.

"I read through it last night; it's a book of stories by different authors. Here, read this out loud—" She grabbed the book back and flipped through it to about the middle before handing it back. "Start at the top of the page." Eve blinked and pulled the book closer to her face, finding the first words and sighing as she began to read.

" _She was quite an instrument_ —huh? this makes no sense— _so finely tuned, and if he touched her right, she made the most glorious sounds, raw, absolutely delicious noises as he_ — _ **Espella**_!" She slammed the book shut on her lap, horrified at what she'd almost read aloud. " _Espella Cantabella_ ," she repeated, her brain stuck on the shock. "How dare you read such a…such a naughty book!" Her entire face was on fire, heart pounding from the surprise. This was a book about people _doing things_!

"Oh, don't be such a Ms. Primstone, Eve!" Espella took the book back. "There are some really interesting parts in here." She bit her lip as she flipped through the pages again. "When Aunt Patty told me all about, well, you know," she mumbled, "she never said anything about all this! Of course, I'm not going to ask her about it, either." She shook her head vehemently. "Not her, and definitely not Dad."

"Still, you shouldn't read—" Eve trailed off, looking away. She had never seen such outright filthy words in her life, though she'd heard them whispered around the garrison enough. And she knew the knights swapped little pamphlets around, laughing at the pictures in the shadows and quickly hiding them from sight when she (or anyone) walked by. She ignored it, as the rest of the town did. And she wasn't entirely innocent, either; she knew enough about what men and women did behind closed doors, and was pretty sure she had most of it figured out. But while she wanted to chastise Espella some more and then take the book away, another part of her was morbidly curious. What did it say that the girl found so interesting?

"Here, listen to this." She opened her mouth to protest, but Espella was already reading. " _He reached out then to cup my breasts in his palms. His skin felt hot against him, and I closed my eyes with a small moan of satisfaction that turned into a gasp as his thumbs flicked over my nipples._ " She stopped, looking down at her own small chest. "Do you think it really feels that good, Eve?" she asked bluntly.

"H-how would I know!?" Eve rubbed her cheeks, trying to erase the flames of mortification. "Do I look like a man's ever put his hands on my chest?" She couldn't believe that she was just sitting here, letting Espella read such vulgar material to her. She knew that she ought to just throw that horrid book into the fireplace, but something kept stopping her each time she reached for it. Curses upon curses, she actually wanted to read more of it!

"I didn't say that," Espella argued. She thought a moment more. "Well, imagine that it was Sir Barnham doing it. Would it feel good then?" she asked sweetly, though there was no innocence in her eyes. Instead, they glittered mischievously as she watched Eve sweat under her scrutiny.

"Good grief, Espella, _I don't know_!" Now it was her turn to bury her face in her hands, wishing for the umpteenth time that she could just disappear from the earth and hide under a rock for an eon or two. That wasn't what she needed to be imagining at all! Yet… how would it feel? _No! No! Don't you dare, Eve Belduke! We do not fantasize about him—often!_ She was forced to amend. After all, she did have the odd daydream; she couldn't lie to herself about everything.

"Hmm." She heard more pages flipping and thought about covering her ears. But if she covered her ears, she might miss something important, and she couldn't have _that_. " _She pulled her head high, running her tongue up his neck, over the stubble of his beard, until she reached his chin. She nipped, a cat's love bite. He knew his cue; he knelt, grabbed her ankles and drew them up over his shoulders._ How—how does that work?" She put a hand on her own shoulder. "Can someone really be so flexible?"

"All he did was put her legs on his shoulders," Eve replied, voice muffled as she refused to look up from the safe haven that had become her hands. "It's not that difficult."

"But doesn't he have to, you know…" she frowned, clearly overthinking the whole theoretical situation. "Her knees would be against her chest, wouldn't they? That can't be comfortable."

"Maybe… maybe it's better because they're lying down?" Why was she even discussing this? Why did she respond at all? Why was she not dead from humiliation already? The last one was the easiest to answer; the longer she sat there, the easier it became to listen and not be so embarrassed, surprisingly. After all, neither of them would ever speak of this again to anyone else, and probably not even to each other outside of referencing 'the _book'_.

"I dunno. Maybe." She flipped a page. " _They lay together in the aftermath, lazing in the satisfaction of their lovemaking. He took her hand from where it lay on his chest, pressing half a dozen small kisses into her palm. She smiled at him as his breath tickled her fingers, wishing that she could close her fingers around the kisses and keep them for always._ Oh, that's sweet, isn't it, Eve?"

Eve finally pulled her face away and stared down at her open palms. _That_ wasn't anything she needed to imagine. She knew all too well how it felt to have someone's lips pressed against her skin, to feel their breath on her. She frowned, opening and closing her fist as she stared.

"Espella, can I ask you something?" The blonde looked up from the thin pages and blinked at her.

"Yes?" Eve bit her lip and wrung her hands together. "Eve, what's wrong?"

"Espella, what do you think you're supposed to do when someone tries—tries to kiss you, and you say no?" She looked up to see Espella staring at her intently. After a moment, the younger girl leaned over and smacked her square on the forehead with the flat of her hand.

" _Why did you tell him no_ , Eve!?" she exclaimed, mouth twisting in frustrated anger. "You like him! You like him and he likes you!"

"I don't know!" she half-whined in reply, rubbing her stinging forehead. "I just… I don't know! We were just standing in the garrison stables looking at the horse and then he was leaning down and it was all so fast and… I didn't know what to do!"

"How hard is it, Eve?" Espella fussed, throwing up her hands. "You put your mouth on his and…and…" she flipped through the book quickly. "Rub your tongues together to create a luscious friction," she read sternly. "That's a _kiss_!"

"Where do tongues come in? Your lips are in the way!" she protested.

"I guess you're supposed to open your mouth at some point!" Espella retorted sharply.

"How are you supposed to know that? When do you do it? Is there a certain number of minutes you have to wait?"

"I always just thought that when I finally kissed someone, it would just come to me," Espella admitted, staring down at the book. "Like, instinctive. He seemed to know what he was doing, didn't he?" she asked uncertainly, glancing back at her.

"I guess so, but—" Eve huffed. "If he'd put his tongue _anywhere,_ I'd have slapped him."

"Eve!" Espella giggled, her small tirade seemingly over. "Then you would really be in a bind!" She stopped laughing and sighed. "How do we not know any of this stuff? Why don't they have classes on it?"

"Psh, do you really think that Ms. Primstone will stand at the front of the class and teach us about tongues?" The two girls began to laugh. "Maybe only to lecture us, but never to instruct us!"

"Naughty young ladies who use their tongues… will end up with nothing but trouble!" Espella proclaimed in a very good impersonation of the teacher. She stood up, waving her imaginary baton about as Eve broke down into more laughter. "Such vulgar displays lead to marriage and then children that _I_ have to teach, so don't do it!" She puffed up her chest, pushing spectacles up her nose with a quick movement before crossing her arms. "This will be on the test; don't forget it!" she commanded in a high, nasally voice.

"Don't be rude!" Eve managed to say in between bouts of laughter.

"Oh, it's alright. She'll never know," Espella sat back down and smoothed her skirts out. "What did he say after you said no?" she asked curiously after they both quieted down. Eve blushed and stared at her hands again.

"Well, I said that he'd just caught me off guard, since I hurt his feelings." She scratched her cheek. "And then he, um, he kissed my hand." She pointed to the very spot where his lips touched her. "And said to take it with me." There was silence, but when she hazarded a look at Espella the girl's eyes were glowing with an inner light. She clasped her hands in front of her with a beaming smile.

"How _romantic_!Who knew that Sir Barnham, of all people!" She stopped mid-sentence and pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, Eve, you've just _got_ to marry him!"

"If he can't kiss me, what makes you think that I'm going to _marry_ him!?" Oh, where was her Great Witch outfit when she needed it? Boxed away in her downstairs closet after using it to greet the Professor and his friends when they returned to visit the town. She seriously considered running downstairs and grabbing the mask, at least. Maybe then she could talk about these sorts of things without being permanently red.

"Let him kiss you."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Eve paused. _Why not?_

"Because he's—he's _Barnham_!" She crossed her arms. "I have no feelings for that clumsy oaf of an ex-Inquisitor. Besides, I'd get flour in my teeth." Espella gave her a 'oh really?' look in answer.

"You're telling me that when he kissed your hand, you felt nothing?" Eve didn't answer, and she took it as a sign to continue. "Why did you ask me what you should do if you have no feelings for him?" She prodded her in the shoulder. "It does answer some questions, though. He's been all mopey around the bakery lately."

"I told him to stop moping…." Espella took both of her hands in her own and knelt down in front of her. The expression on her face was akin to a mother reasoning with a stubborn child.

"Eve." She shook her hands gently. "Would just a _little_ kiss hurt? Maybe you could kiss him instead. He's been in the dumps lately. You don't even talk to him anymore, do you?" she accused, not unkindly.

"What am I supposed to say?" Espella looked surprised at this.

"Say what you really feel!" She pursed her lips, thinking hard. "Next Tuesday Father, Aunt Patty and I are going to see the new tragedy at the Courthouse; I don't know if you knew or not. Anyway, Sir Barnham will be at the bakery by himself. Maybe you can go and talk to him then? It'll be just the two of you, so no one would be eavesdropping or anything."

"Espella, why can't you just let it go?" She wasn't sure if she'd really wanted the girl's advice or not, but now she was almost regretting telling her. But not talking about it with _anyone_ had been eating a hole in her heart. She wasn't close enough to Jean to say anything, and Lettie Mailer would have spread the news around town before noon. Espella was the only one she could have spoken to.

"Because you're both worrying about this whole thing. I can see that now. If you just want to be friends with him, than _tell_ _him_ that you just want to be friends. But don't just ignore each other forever, okay? I like you both too much to have to choose between inviting you for dinner or letting him eat in peace."

"Fine, fine." Eve pulled her hands away. "But if I promise to talk to him, you have to promise to put that book back where you found it."

"I was going to do that anyway." Espella stood, picking up the book off the bed and slipping it back into her cloak pocket. "I was going to put it back… and get another one!"

" _Espella_!"

* * *

She swallowed hard, gathering her courage as she stared at the closed door to the bakery. The sun was set completely, and the only light on the streets shined through the bakery windows as clouds rolled lazily across the night sky. She raised her hand to knock, lowered it, and then raised it again. Why was it so hard? Was it because after days of thinking it over, she still had no idea what to say? Or was it just her shyness getting in the way again? A combination of both, she decided.

Well, she couldn't be caught just standing at the door, could she? She took a deep breath and knocked twice in quick succession before opening the door. It was unlocked, since the trio would be home in an hour or two from the play. She stepped through into the cozy room, brightened with candlelight and the leftover embers from the day's fire glowing in the oven.

"Sorry, we're closed for the—oh." Barnham looked up and saw her standing there. He hesitated before smiling awkwardly. "Espella's gone with her father and Mrs. Eclaire to the Courthouse tonight," he explained. He was in only in his tunic and pants, and she realized why after a moment; he was bent over the day's ledgers, a hard thing to do when wearing bulky armor.

"I know," she declared, taking a step further into the shop and shutting the door behind her with a soft _click_. "I actually came to speak with you." A look of surprise and confusion passed across his face before he cleared his throat.

"Alright. Just let me finish this for Mrs. Eclaire and then I'll be free to talk." He bent back down over the ledger and she made herself at home, sitting down at the long table that stood in the center of the bakery. She watched him tally up the numbers, his mouth moving silently as he counted. His eyes flitted towards her more than once, and she wondered if he felt her stare or if he was only trying to figure out why she'd come to speak with him so late in the evening. Finally he shut the notebook and stared at her, straightening up but still half-leaned on the counter. "Now, what is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"Zacharias, these past few weeks we've been avoiding each other, and you know as well as I do why that is." She took another deep, steadying breath as she stood and walked to stand at the end of the counter, facing him. "Don't you?" He looked about as uncomfortable as she felt, his fingers playing with a stray piece of paper sticking out of the ledger.

"Yes." Was that all he was going to say? "I apologize if I was too forward. I overstepped my bounds," he blurted out all at once.

"Don't apologize." He looked at her now, eyes wary. She rubbed the back of her neck, unable to meet his gaze as she tried to find the right words. "It's not that I wouldn't have wanted it, not under other circumstances." Wait, wait… what had she just said? Her mind flipped around to reverse, trying to find out what had made her even suggest such a thing. But it was like another part of her brain was on autopilot now, and she realized that she was still speaking.

"I just don't understand what's going on between us now. I thought we were just good friends, and I _enjoy_ being your friend, but at the same time—"

"I understand." He was frowning at the counter now; the shadows made it hard to tell, but he might have been blushing. "I feel the same way." His hand fisted on the counter, crumpling the corner of the paper. "Do you know, I _was_ jealous back on that day, but not in the way that you think."

"What do you mean?" Ugh, her heart was starting to do that strange flopping sensation again; she shifted and crossed her arms, staring at the embers through the open oven door. She heard him shift too, his clothes moving quietly in the near silence of the empty bakery.

"I was envious of the way that he could hold your hand so easily. It took me weeks to get the courage to do the same thing. And they talked to you like it was nothing to them—it _was_ nothing to them—but I cannot. Never again will I be able to address you as plainly as I did when you sentenced me to the dungeons." She blinked at him; of all the times in their long history together for him to bring up, why on earth would it be _that_ one? She shook her head, trying to focus on the conversation at hand.

"Why can't you?" That was a topic that had confused her for a long, long time.

"Because at that time… I must confess, I didn't like you very much." He glanced guiltily at her. "I could speak my mind because I didn't care about what you thought of me. But now, 'tis different. I can never remember what it was that I wished to say, because my mind's on other things." She tilted her head.

"What other things?" Deep down she knew, but she wanted him to say it. He gulped and rolled his shoulders in a shrug, letting go of the paper before he tore the corner.

"These past few weeks…it's wondering how to make sure you're not off guard again." She couldn't help but chuckle, even though she was pretty sure she'd never felt more bashful in her entire life than she did at that moment.

"Have you ever thought about just asking me?" His eyes widened and then he furrowed his brow, nose wrinkling.

"I have not." He seemed confused, but whatever he was muddling over was pushed to the back of his mind as he stepped forward. "Miss Eve, would you do me the honor of letting me kiss you, just once?"

"Well…" she tapped her finger against her chin, trying to ignore the way her heart leaped when he said her name. "It depends on where you'd want to kiss me." Surely a chaste kiss on the forehead wouldn't be too much, right? She turned to see him standing even closer, face half-illuminated by the low firelight. It was still bright enough for her to see his eyes travel all the way down her body, lingering before traveling back up to meet hers again.

"Everywhere." His voice was deeper now, dropping down to a murmur as he took another step forward. "But maybe here, to start with?" He gently touched her cheek and she nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from his. Her hand brushed his accidentally and she jerked it back with a gasp, holding it close to her chest as if he'd injured it. He held her steadily by the shoulder, brushing her hair back before bending down.

He grazed her cheek softly before pressing his lips to it. She felt the warmth seeping into her skin from his mouth, his hair tickling her nose. He smelled of bread and fire, and suddenly she felt the urge to lean in and see if he tasted the same way. His mouth left her cheek and she turned her head as he pulled back, seeking his gaze. He stopped close enough that their noses still brushed, staring at her with a heated expression. He made to move back in and stopped, silently asking her for permission. She'd only have to turn her head back to feel that warmth again, but now—

She tentatively put a hand on his shoulder, mimicking his stance as she leaned in without thinking and pressed her lips against his. She felt him jerk in surprise and then he kissed her back, mouth brushing against hers as he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her legs wobbled and she leaned into him, soaking up the feeling of his body against hers as her eyes fluttered closed. _I like it… oh, I_ _ **like**_ _it_.

Her mind jumped back to that accursed book and she tried to open her mouth just a little; it was harder than she thought, but she adjusted the angle and just barely garnered the courage to lick across the edge of his lip. He moaned and she felt it reverberate in her chest, spreading all throughout her body. He broke away and she sighed, only to hear the last thing in the world that she wanted to hear right now—the door.

Quick as a flash they were apart, wiping their lips and clearing their throats as The Storyteller walked in, flanked by his daughter and the baker. He looked at them strangely, eyes moving from one to the next.

"Hello you two," he greeted after a moment. "Were—did we interrupt something?" Aunt Patty smiled knowingly and Espella looked as if the heavens had just opened up before her.

"No, we were just talking," Eve replied quickly, seeing Barnham nod enthusiastically from the corner of her eye. "Nothing important."

"Oh?" Aunt Patty answered, stepping forward as she arched a brow. "It must have been quite the embarrassing conversation; you're both as red as my hair!" she teased good-naturedly.

"The fire's hot, is all!" Barnham insisted, and it was her turn to nod as if her life depended on it. The baker snorted.

"The fire's gone out, child." They both looked behind them to see that she was right—the last of the embers was just blinking out and leaving behind nothing but ash. They turned back, looking at each other quickly before facing their questioners again. Was this how a witch felt before the Court in those old days? For a moment, no one moved.

Then, all at once, there was a burst of sound as Barnham made a beeline for the stairs, thundering up them quickly and calling a quick farewell to her from the landing. Not two seconds later the door slammed and she was faced with the full brunt of three pairs of eyes boring into her skull. She knew exactly how he felt every time he'd floundered in front of her now; without further ado she walked past them and out the door without speaking, her utter humiliation her only companion on the long trek home.

* * *

"Well then." Espella had gone upstairs and left Patty with Arthur down in the bakery. "I do believe we've scared them off, poor kiddies." Arthur laughed, rubbing his chin.

"My… youth in love. What a time."

"Oh, yes. I remember how it felt, that first time I was caught with a boy. I thought my father would die on the spot! Of course, then he and my mother laughed about it later after scolding me for flirting with boys in the first place, since I was 'too young'."

"Well…I can't say it surprised me." Arthur smiled. "I've noticed that he had a peculiar regard for her, but I must say that she kept me wondering for a while." He smiled sheepishly. "I had been planning to write them into the Story, but I kept putting it off. It just didn't feel right, making my old friend's daughter fall in love with someone she didn't choose."

"And in the end, she still chose him!" Patty put the ledger away in a drawer and then wiped imaginary flour off the counter. "He's a good boy, and she's a good girl."

"You're right, you're right."

From the top of the stairs, Espella listened to the conversation with the big smile still on her face. She bit her finger to keep from laughing, mentally cheering her friend and the knight she'd once been terrified of, but now felt something more like sisterly affection for.

"I knew you could do it, Eve."

* * *

 **Afterword:** The excerpts that Espella torments-er, reads to Eve are from various romance novels that I googled on the Internet. If you find something you've read before on there, great! You also read naughty books and Ms. Primstone will haunt you at night.


	4. Hands Above Waist

Rouge had a secret admirer. He couldn't see any other reason why she would have a large bouquet of flowers siting in a clear vase on the edge of the bar counter. Surely they weren't for aesthetic purposes, considering the chaos and disarray the tavern was in every day. Besides, her clientele wasn't the very gift-giving, mushy sort of people that would thank her with flowers for any reason.

"Yeah," she said with a shrug when asked about them. "Yesterday it was a basket from the confectioner's, today it's a wildflower bouquet." She laughed. "I'm being romanced in style and the guy's too cowardly to show his face? It's a damn shame." She plucked one of the daisy petals and rubbed it between her fingers thoughtfully. "I'm the type of woman who loves surprises, though, so it's sort of exciting to wake up each day and wonder what might be on the front step."

"Don't talk about cowards," he told her glumly as he sat on a stool, waiting for her to give him his 'usual'. "You're looking at the biggest one in Labyrinthia." She turned from the barrel of ale with a frown.

"Come, Zacky-boy, you _know_ the rules. If you want to soak in self-pity, do it upstairs with Cutter while he cries over how children run at the sight of his face." She sniffed and continued filling his chalice. "I, for one, don't want to hear it." He didn't answer, instead taking a long draught of the ale the moment she sat it before him. "It's a woman, isn't it?"

"Huh?" He put the half-empty chalice down and stared blankly at her. She tutted, shaking her head.

"I see _scores_ of men in here each day. There's certain drinking styles: the 'I got paid today', the 'my wife is a nag', the 'my boss knows nothing and here's why', and then there's what you just did, the 'I'm having woman issues and I don't know how to fix them'." She smiled knowingly. "So, who's the lucky lady that Sir Barnham has his eyes on?"

"'Tis no one," he muttered into his ale.

"Lady Darklaw, that's what I thought." He choked on the drink, nearly spitting it across the counter. Only the thought of Rouge's rage, and the punishment of cleaning the entire counter, stopped him from doing so.

"What?! I never said—"

"No, but you're wearing the Darklaw face." He coughed, pounding his chest to try and force the errant ale out of his lungs. "It's the face you always used to make every time she did something you didn't like." She leaned over the counter, head resting in one hand. "Tell me, what has she done now?"

"'Tis nothing she's done. Rather what I've done."

"Oh, of course," she nodded knowingly. "It's always the man's fault, isn't it?" He glared as her lips twisted into a teasing smirk. "Poor, poor Zacharias. Now, what _have_ you done that's forcing you to drown your sorrows at my tavern?" Sighing, he told her everything, from the fiasco in the stables to their impromptu talk the night before, and how she'd kissed him, and how the theatergoers had returned earlier than expected and caught them even without seeing much of anything.

"To make manners worse, Mrs. Eclaire scolded me for leaving Miss Eve by herself this morning at breakfast, and Espella went so far as to actually _congratulate_ me. I can take that sort of embarrassment from Mrs. Eclaire and Espella, but how am I ever going to face _her_ again?" he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"You _are_ a coward!" Rouge laughed, leaning over the bar to punch him in the shoulder. "For a knight, anyway." She wiped one eye and pursed her lips at him. "But from what I can see, this entire situation isn't unsalvageable." She paused, the smile sliding from her face. Quick as a whip, she moved and the ruckus that made up the usual atmosphere of the tavern came to a dead silence. A young couple stared wide-eyed at a dagger, quivering in the wood not two inches from their faces.

"Hey! Take it outside; this is a tavern, not a whorehouse. No one else wants to see you two doing it on the tables," she growled warningly. The two kids stared fearfully at her before all but running for the door, leaving behind nothing but the dagger, which was quickly claimed by another patron to substitute for a lack of darts as the laughter and conversations began again. "Now, about your problem. She kissed you, right? You didn't kiss her first?"

"I'm not discussing the particulars—"

" _Did you kiss her first_!?" He was cowed by her tone, her insistent gaze burning a hole into his forehead. "I have to know before I can help you!"

"O-only on her cheek," he mumbled, cheeks glowing as he leaned in to keep from being overheard. Rouge nodded conspiratorially.

"How long did it last?"

"I—I don't know! A minute, perhaps?" His cheeks darkened further. "I wasn't paying attention to the clock."

"Were there tongues involved?" He sputtered, but she continued to glare at him mercilessly while he fidgeted on the barstool. "Well?"

"I'm not answering that!" he blurted out loudly before finishing his ale in one gulp. "You don't need to know the ins and outs of my love life!" The tavern quieted again as all eyes turned to him. Before Rouge could make a move, he turned around with such a savage expression that they quickly resumed their boozing and carousing without a single chuckle.

"Alright, so there _was_ some involved." She was unaffected by his fury, picking at a nail while he stewed angrily in the face of her interrogation. He grumbled under his breath and held out the chalice for her to refill. "Good; that means she's serious. There's not a reason she wouldn't be, though; this _is_ Darklaw we're talking about." She looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "She's not one to kiss and tell."

"This isn't what I came here for," he pointed out crossly. "I just need to know what to do."

"I'm getting to it!" she snapped, setting the chalice back in front of him forcefully. "Don't be impatient." He sighed as she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "Look, the best thing to do? Apologize."

"Apologize," he repeated dully. Was that _all_ the advice she could even offer him?

"Why go out of your way to jump through hoops when all that's really needed is a good, old-fashioned apology?" she replied simply. "You can figure that much out on your own, can't you?"

"Of course I can… I think." She slammed both hands on the counter in front of him, rattling his chalice and causing him to jerk in surprise.

"Listen to yourself! Are you a man or not?!" He flushed, straightening up to look her in the eye.

"Of course I am! Who do you take me for?"

"Well then, get out there and take care of your business like a man, damnit!" He stood abruptly, nearly upsetting the barstool.

"I will!"

"Go then!"

"Fine!" He stomped out the door, doubling back two seconds later. "Thank you! Put that on my tab, if you please!"

"I will! Don't worry!" she shouted back, waving him off with an impatient expression before cracking a smile. "That guy…." She looked back at her bouquet, the flowers looking nice in the light of the chandelier. "I hope you're as nice as guy as him, mystery man," she said quietly, pulling another petal from the daisy. "But you better have some gumption, if you wanna run with me."

* * *

"Hey." Eve looked up from her desk, staring in surprise at Barnham as he stepped into their office.

"Zacharias," she greeted softly, before remembering that she wasn't very happy with him. "What do you want?" she snipped, trying to put some heat behind her words. After all, thanks to him she couldn't visit the bakery for _at least_ a month! Last night she'd avowed to make him rue the day he ever set his sights on her, but now the anger had gone and just left the lingering mortification behind.

"Come take a walk with me," he half-asked, half-ordered. She was taken aback by the seriousness in his tone. "We need to talk." His expression was firm, any emotion hidden behind the stern mask he used to wear during the witch trials.

"Oh… alright." She stood, unable to think of a plausible excuse to decline and cursing her luck that he'd come on the one day she was trying to forget about him for a while. Every time she tried to focus on her work, their actions last night barged into her head and reminded her of the way his face had looked with the shadows dancing in the firelight, and the way his lips had tasted as they kissed. She was plagued with the fierce desire to do it again, but it was kept in check by the way he'd abandoned her to the wolves last night—or to the baker, as it were.

Was he angry with her, too? He didn't seem to be happy, but the aura rolling off his shoulders seemed more tense than outright angry. She felt a stab of panic; was he going to demand that they stop this whatever-it-was between them? That would be the—best?—thing to do, but she didn't really _want_ it to stop anymore. That fear was calmed a little as he took her by the hand again, this time lacing their fingers as he pulled her gently out of the office and down the hall.

They were silent as they walked through the town; he didn't attempt conversation, and she didn't know what to say if he _should_ attempt it. His mood was an unsolvable mystery and she tried to puzzle it out as they walked, ignoring the fact that she was enjoying the fit of his fingers between hers. He didn't even look at her, his eyes locked straight ahead and never wavering once as he led her towards the far gates that led into the wood. She knew the path well; it was the same one she took home. Her confusion as to where he was leading her doubled and she frowned; did he want to take a walk in the Wood, of all places?

"Zacharias?" They were through the gate now, past the two knights standing as (purely decorative) guards. The two men barely glanced at them as they walked past, stuck in a heated discussion over whether the leaves on the vines climbing up the stones of the wall surrounding the city were poisonous. The sunlight barely filtered through the thick canopy, causing sparse bursts of bright light and dusky shadow that alternated the farther along the path they went. It was really less of a wood and more of an Amazonian-like jungle, the more she thought about it.

"Yes?" He let go of her hand long enough to push a curtain of creepers out of the way so that she could duck under it. She passed through into the murky forest, breathing in the moldering-leaf smell and listening to the birds calling to each other from the trees somewhere up above. A bullfrog croaked loudly and hopped out from beneath a large bush before crossing over the path and plopping in some water just out of sight beyond the tree line.

"When you said that we needed to talk, I thought that meant we'd actually…talk." She turned back to see him follow her, letting the organic curtain fall back over the path. He paused, looking back as if he could still see the city walls through the trees.

"We will. Later." He stepped forward, his hand finding the small of her back and guiding her forward. The further they went, the harder it was to find the path that wound so errantly through the trees. It became covered in a thick carpet of leaves, roots sticking up haphazardly where they'd found purchase in the ground that was no longer there, washed away by centuries of erosion. _I really need to commission those knights to get out here and clean this up._ Even if you could see some of the danger in the day, many former Shades still lived out in the old village and had to walk these paths at night. It wasn't safe.

She sighed, letting him push her ahead until they reached the crossroads. He turned down the path that she took home instead of towards the Shades' treehouses, moving with a single-minded purpose that was starting to concern her. Where in the world were they heading? Surely not to her _house_ —she hadn't even cleaned up for visitors! Her daydream about the throne room popped up and she forced it back down with an iron will. _He's never getting in that room again! He ruined my draperies and knocked down my father's chandelier; who knows what he would do to the decorations next time!_

The forest grew steadily lighter, the canopy allowing more sun to filter down as the trees grew farther and farther apart, and then as they turned the corner the edge of the Eldwitch fields were upon them. From here, the wall looked like a large, unsurpassable mountain. She stared back at it, wondering about her Shades for the first time in a while. What had they thought when they stared at that mountainous wall? Had they longed for the home that they could barely remember? It gave her chills and she turned away from it with a guilty expression; at the time, what she'd done had seemed to be 'just the way things were', but now she could see the injustice of what she and the Storyteller had accomplished with their lies and secrets.

Her house stood out from the natural fog around the lake, looking pristine as ever with the sloping peaks and stylized windows. Her father had it built just for her, even though it had been their house before he'd gone to be closer to the townspeople. Now with the workroom converted into a home office and the stables empty, it seemed to be a lonely sort of place. It was lonesome at times, but she enjoyed being out here, surrounded by nature and the soft lullabies of the river to send her to sleep at night. She'd always hated the cramped quarters of the townhouses; she didn't know how they all could stand being elbow-to-elbow with all their neighbors.

He didn't lead her towards her house, however; they continued along the path leading towards the ancient ruins and the Shade village. On the river bridge he finally stopped, taking his hand off her back and resting it on the railing that had been added after one too many people had fallen off the bridge and into the river. She stood next to him, watching minnows darting in the river as the crimson petals of countless flowers floated here and there in the water, catching a current and spinning around and around while silver scales flashed in the sunlight. A faint breeze picked up, drifting across the field and stirring her hair, bringing the scent of Labyrinthia chimney smoke and Eldwitch flowers with it as it blew over the rippling water.

"This is a lovely place," he noted, breaking the silence as he leaned against the railing on his elbows and motioned out at the view with one hand. "You're lucky to live in a place like this; I don't often get a chance to come out here."

"Yes," she agreed, unsure of where this was leading. "It's very beautiful year-round." He didn't reply, and she sighed as the silence grew. Geese flew overhead in a V formation, honking as they descended and made for the lake. She watched them until they disappeared behind the trees, though she could still hear the odd squawk as they settled on the waters. "Is everything alright?" she asked quickly, turning back to him and refusing to let another mute incident happen when he'd dragged her out here on the grounds of a conversation.

"You're acting strange. _What_ did you want to talk about?" she insisted. "Is it about last night?" she guessed, leaning over the railing just enough to see his face. His hand gripped the railing tightly, as if trying to keep himself from bolting away again. _Would you run all the way home, Sir Knight?_ She couldn't help but smile at the thought of him sprinting through the city as fast as he could go, simply because he was unable to speak his mind around her without getting embarrassed.

"Yes." He straightened up, still refusing to look at her. "For last night… I apologize for leaving you downstairs." She realized that she was holding her breath and let it out in a sharp exhale. Of course… what else could it have been, knowing him?

"You couldn't have said that in town?" she pointed out, rubbing one of her temples. After all that concern over what he was going to tell her, only to find out it was this? It really irked her. "Instead, you drag me out to the middle of nowhere and make me _worry_ before telling me that you're sorry?" She crossed her arms. "I had work to do today, you know." He turned to her now, eyes flashing at her tone in an old challenge. She ignored it, pointing her finger at his chest while she took the last few weeks' worth of frustration out on him.

"Furthermore, who kisses someone and then just abandons them? You're part of the Order of Knights, for heaven's sake! If you wanted me to kiss you, why did you turn on me not two second's afterwards like a rookie shaking in his iron boots?!" She stepped closer, digging her finger into the skin over his heart.

"And on that note, who tries to kiss a woman without even letting her know that he's remotely interested, and then getting hurt when she refuses? How am I supposed to know if you never talk to me? You can talk to any other woman in town, but not me? Why is that? Are you really that afraid? Honestly!" she exclaimed, feeling her blood begin to boil as she worked herself up into a frenzy, "do you even _consider_ yourself a man anymore?!" Before she could add anything else, his hand grabbed her wrist in a tight grip and she gasped.

"Of course I do!" he snarled, pushing her hand away from him. "Did you ever think that perhaps it might have been easier to speak to you if you hadn't been so unapproachable?" Her eyes widened as he loomed over her, a dark frown twisting his lips. She realized that she'd made him angry, but at the moment she couldn't bring herself to care. At least when he was angry, he spoke the way he really felt and didn't hide behind those damnable silences. "For years you were nothing but cold and ruthless in all you did; how can I just forget that?"

"Don't you think I _know_ that!?" she protested, trying to twist her arm out of his grasp. "The entire town still fears me as the High Inquisitor! I did what I had to, no matter what," she declared, trying to make him believe it more than she ever could. "And if you were the same way, you'd still have found a way to let me know how you really felt long before now." She glared fiercely at him, a look that had hardly any effect on him, even if it sent most of the knights running for the hills. "You're _still_ lacking in resolve, Sir Barnham."

The moment the words left her lips, she wanted to take them back. But it was too late; he flinched as if she'd slapped him. He dropped her wrist, hurt and anger warring in his gaze before he closed his eyes. For a long moment, neither of them moved, and then he turned without a sound.

"It's time for me to go home," he announced gravely. He began to walk away and she grabbed the sleeve of his coat, trying to hold him back.

"I'm not finished with you," she argued, keeping a tight hold on the fabric. He _wasn't_ running away from her anymore, damnit! He yanked, she yanked back, and then the next thing she knew she was holding the jacket limply in one hand as he shrugged it off and continued without a word. He would really go to such lengths?! She stared after him in shock before jumping to life, draping the coat on the railing before running after him. She nearly tripped on the bridge and had to stop again to tug off her heeled sandals. Why, oh why did she choose _today_ to wear her casual clothes to work? Her boots would have made it much easier to chase after him.

"Zacharias! Get back here!" She was _really_ mad now, running for all she was worth as she tried to catch up to him with nothing but her bare feet and sheer willpower. He saw her chasing him and an exasperated look crossed his face before he began to pick up speed. _Damn! If he makes it to the forest, he'll be free. I've got to stop him!_ She pushed her legs to go faster, lungs burning as she ran pell-mell down the path leading into the forest. _Ack! I'm not going to make it!_ Immediately as the thought crossed her mind, another took its place. _I'll make it, even if it kills me!_

Perhaps her foot caught a root on the path. Or maybe it was just her mind deciding for her, before she could consider the consequences. Either way, the next moment she was flying through the air, a scream—or battle cry—on her lips. He turned at the sound, and she collided with his chest. They somersaulted once, rolled twice and then finally landed in a patch of softer ground just off the main path; a flurry of crimson petals burst from the flowers around them and floated through the air lazily as she groaned, arms aching from trying to keep a good hold on him as they tumbled.

"Ow…" she winced, sitting up and rubbing her shoulder. That _hurt_. She checked herself over to make sure there weren't any broken bones before seeing him on his back not a foot away from her, unmoving. She crawled over and looked at him fearfully, making sure he was actually breathing and nothing was sticking out unnaturally. There was a large grass stain across his shirt and some petals in his hair, but nothing seemed to be amiss otherwise. "Are you alright?"

"Ugh…" he sat up and grimaced, rubbing his elbow. "What's _wrong_ with you?" he grunted, brushing the petals from his hair and glaring at her.

"I refuse to let you run away from me again. You _will_ see reason," she declared sternly.

"I— _oof_ —I wasn't running away!" he protested, clutching his side as he sat up fully. He prodded it experimentally and, deciding that nothing life-threatening was wrong, turned his attention back to her. "I thought it better to leave, lest I do something that I regret."

"No resolve whatsoever," she reiterated with a frown. "You won't even fight me to the fullest of your capabilities." He hissed something under his breath, shaking his head. Turning his head, he looked over the fields and back towards the wall as if expecting something. She kept her eyes trained on his face, watching the emotions fighting for control before a defeated expression cast shadows over his features.

"I do have resolve," he argued quietly, looking down at his lap and toying with a stray petal lying there. "But back then… there was a reason I didn't strive to unmask the figure I saw that evening in the woods."

"Oh?" She watched his fingers twist the petal, tearing it in twos, then threes, and then scattering the miniscule fragments to the wind. "Do tell." She was beginning to calm down now, the exertion of stopping him helping to unwind her muscles and release some of her pent-up frustrations. She shifted onto her knees, resting her weight on her heels with her hands demurely on her lap.

"It's simple." He grabbed another petal lying close to him and began to mutilate it as well. "I didn't find out because I didn't want it to be true. I—I didn't want it to be _you_."

"What?" The confession caught her off-guard. What was he saying? But he merely nodded, either ignoring or not recognizing her incredulity.

"I knew that if I took off that mask, and it was you beneath…"The petal was crushed as he made a fist. "I _would_ commit treason."

"You wouldn't, and you know it," she corrected. "You'd have done what you thought was right." He began to shake his head, but she continued. "You'd have turned me in, had me arrested, and by morning I'd have been consigned to the flames."

"No!" he cried out, startling her. "Never!" There was a conviction in his voice that she'd never heard before. She blinked at him, not understanding his meaning. "I wouldn't have. I'd have never turned you in before figuring out the entire Story and what it meant. And I'd have never done that because I lacked resolve to do so." He dipped his head. "In that statement, you were right. I couldn't—wouldn't—have gone against my lord and master."

"Zacharias, it's alright." She reached out to touch his hand where it still lay fisted on his lap. "It doesn't bother me that you would have turned me in. It would be your duty as a knight, and I've _always_ admired your wholeheartedness." He only shook his head again.

"Don't you get it, Miss Eve?" he snapped, pulling his hand out from underneath hers. He loosened his fingers and the petal fell back onto his pants, crumpled and stained blood-colored as its juices leaked from the fragile surface. "From the moment I first laid eyes on you, when the Storyteller introduced us on my first day as an Inquisitor, I always thought that you were—that you looked nice." He turned away, a blush creeping up his neck.

"And you _were_ unapproachable, but you were also strong, and fair, and kind to those who worked under you. You were always quick to praise anyone you felt was worthy of merit, and justly punish anyone who stepped out of line. You never batted an eye when I asked if Constantine could stay by me as I worked. At first I only respected you as my superior, but then I grew to admire you for all your virtues."

"I don't see what your point is." She was doing well to keep from blushing herself, considering all that he was saying. She'd tried hard to be standoffish, but she wasn't cruel. Maybe it was just meant to be that someone like him, who revered all that was just and good in the world, would see her better qualities instead of just her aloofness. And—had he really liked the way she looked, even from their first meeting? Come to think of it, he had been staring at her hard when the Storyteller introduced him, but new Labyrinthians were prone to fits of strange behavior as they adjusted to the hypnotization and the ink of the Story; she'd just passed it off as such.

"My point is thus: do you really believe that I could have stood by and prosecuted you, whom I esteemed? That I could have seen the metal closing around that face, knowing all the while that I'd never see it again in my life, and stand by idly?"

"I wouldn't have died," she began, but he cut her off.

"I wouldn't have _known_ that!" he reasoned pleadingly, his eyes begging her to understand his plagued thoughts. "In my mind, you were dead if I ever pointed a single finger in blame!" He leaned closer to her. "You, who I had grown so—so _fond_ of. Even now…" he trailed off.

"Fond."

"Yes. Even if you were cold and distant, I was still unable—unwilling—to stop admiring you. And the admiration soon gave way to this fondness that I felt, which prevented me from speaking up until I had confronted you privately about what I'd seen. I'd hoped that you could have proved without a shadow of a doubt that it wasn't you, and that anything I'd seen was a trick of the light. But instead, you laughed at me and all but said that it _was_ you, and that evidence was the only thing keeping you from the fate that all witches must bear."

"I was the Great Witch. I _am_ the Great Witch."

"I know." He brushed the ruined petal off his leg and onto the grass, where a beetle crawled onto it, feelers wiggling. "But even now, I wouldn't give you away."

"If you didn't know what you do now, I have no doubt that you would. It would be your _duty_ , and if you were being as silly as you are right now, I'd remind you of it. Even if it meant my death."

"And I'd still refuse. I'd deny it." He picked up her hand and squeezed. "I'd be your consort, your protector, and I'd help you hide from everyone until I learned the real truth, and set us all free."

"No, I wouldn't let you," she refused. "I'd make you turn me in, and then I'd escape before they could lay a hand on me. I am the Great Witch, after all," she chuckled. "It wouldn't do to be caught without even a _little_ magic."

"Miss Eve…" She shook her head.

"Why can't you just call me Eve?" she asked. "It's not like I call you Mr. Zacharias." He hesitated and she leaned over, one hand on his thigh to balance herself. "Say it."

"E-Eve." Her hand tightened on his thigh and his eyes darkened. He swallowed, breathing harder as she came even closer.

"Again," she ordered, her lips barely brushing the skin of his neck. He shivered.

" _Eve_." What was it about this that was so damn arousing? She ran her fingers along his jaw, kissing infrequently as she moved towards his lips. His hands found her waist and pressed her back into the grass, kneeling between her thighs. "Darling Eve, _my_ Eve…." Her body was on fire, fingers tangling in his hair as he bent to kiss her properly. His hand cupped her face as he tilted his head; every limb melted as his tongue brushed hers tentatively. She gasped and pulled him closer, every touch sending sparks of—Electricity? Magic?—down her spine.

"Again," she was barely able to gasp when they broke apart, chests heaving. Deep down she did realize that they were out in an open field where anyone could see them, or hear them, and the privacy of her house was only a short walk away; still, she had no inclination to move from this spot, _especially_ if he was going to keep kissing her like this. She forced her fingers out of his hair and ran them down his neck, caressing the skin down to the collar of his shirt. "D-don't stop, Zacharias." He shuddered, eyes opening to look down at her heatedly.

"I won't." He brushed a few stray strands from her forehead. "As long as you're willing to have me, I'll be here." Desire pulsed through her as his fingers followed the same path hers had taken, following the curve of her collarbone before dipping just below the hem of her shirt to trace along the rise of her breast. Her back arched as she pressed into his touch, something inside her screaming for him to keep going. His lips replaced his fingers, never straying farther than a few centimeters below her hemline. Still, she couldn't help herself, letting out a breathy moan before clapping a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

He glanced up and smirked at her flushed face, looking both curious and smug at the same time. She cleared her throat and tried to sit up, but he pushed her back easily. Pulling himself up her body, he pressed himself flush against her and kissed her again, a slow hunger building behind every touch.

"Z-Zacharias!" she squeaked as his calloused fingers delved beneath her shirt again, this time dancing across her stomach. He chuckled, but didn't reply as he covered her neck in damp kisses that left her panting. "We—we're outside!"

"We are," he agreed, nipping her earlobe and laughing again when she jerked. "Do you wish to stop?"

"No, but—" She sighed as his hand retreated, her skin cold in the wake of his warm touch.

"Tomorrow evening… allow me to take you out to eat," he whispered, lips against her skin. She blinked up at the darkening sky as she considered the offer before nodding. She felt him smile and then he kissed her once more before climbing off of her. He reached a hand out and she let him pull her to her feet as well. His hands went to his pockets and he shifted uncomfortably; she refused to look past his waist, knowing what she'd most likely find there. Her eyes flitted to his belt once— _damn_ her curiosity—and immediately she looked away, straightening her shirt and running her hands through her hair.

"Where will we go?" He shrugged and set off down the path, leaving her to follow him. They walked side-by-side back towards the bridge. She bent down and picked up her shoes without breaking stride, holding them loosely as they set out over the roughened wooden planks.

"Leave it to me. Just meet me at the crossroads signpost at six o' clock." She stopped to get his jacket where it still hung over the railing, handing it to him almost shyly. He pulled it back on, not bothering to fix his mussed hair as he grinned at her. "Six o' clock _is_ fine, is it not?"

"Perfectly fine," she assured him. Her heart skipped a beat as he reached out to brush her cheek as the bell began to ring the hour. "Mrs. Eclaire will be missing you," she noted, but caught his hand and held it in hers a moment longer. She didn't want him to leave; if only they lived closer together—then he could stay longer.

"Yes, it's nearly dusk." He kissed her fingers and then she had no other choice but to let his hand go, watching as he waved goodbye and then jogged for the woods that separated her house from the wall. She watched him until he couldn't be made out among the thick trees and then turned towards her house silently, body still thrumming from the touch of his hands on her.

He hadn't done anything too salacious, but every innocent touch still spoke of what he _would_ do if they were truly alone and not out where anyone could see (if they came looking). Even now, she began to understand what was so appealing about the acts in thatbook, and how women could sigh and moan and maybe even scream. There was just something all-encompassing about it that was like a puzzle, too hard for her to understand unless she had someone else figuring it out along with her.

That was fine; she was patient enough to wait for the answer. But the intensity of it, and what those sort of emotions meant; _that_ was what alarmed her.

* * *

 **Afterword:** Ah, those hormone ridden children.

But they have more steps to go~ Can't rush things, you know!


	5. Heart to Heart (sort of)

Absolutely nothing was going right this morning!

Of course, it may have just been Eve's growing anxiety over the coming evening and everything that might happen. After all, she'd never been on a _date_ -date before; not with any boy, and certainly not with her coworker. It was something new, and changes in her routine always made her a little nervous. All morning long while she piddled about with her housework, worst case scenarios were running rampant through her mind.

 _What if he doesn't show up? What if he's late and I leave, and then he thinks that_ _ **I**_ _didn't show up? What if I spill something on my clothes? What if I trip and make a fool of myself? I'll never be able to show my face in town again!_

Every thought built on the last one until she was so nervous, her hands trembled as she tried to eat her lunch and she felt nauseous every time she swallowed a bite of food. _I need a bath; yes, that will do me some good_. A long, relaxing hot soak in the tub would serve two purposes: calming her nerves, and getting herself clean. She was supposed to meet Barnham in six hours, sure, but that didn't mean she couldn't start getting ready now.

When it was ready she sank up to her nose in the steaming water, closing her eyes and humming in satisfaction. The warmth did help to melt away _some_ of the anxiety, but her mind still ran around and around in circles until she was dizzy with trepidation once more. She sat up in the tub, one hand toying with a lock of hair that had broken free from the pile atop her head as she frowned down at her reflection in the gently rippling water.

"Stop this melodramatic foolishness," she ordered sternly, as though she were speaking to an acne-riddled rookie knight rather than her own uneasy reflection. "Every concern you've addressed is absolutely ridiculous. Of course he'll come, because he invited you. And if he's late, he can't blame you for not standing there all night long. Furthermore, you never spill anything on your clothes any other time, so why would you tonight? The same goes for tripping; you're not like those other women, skipping around in heels as long as their forearms."

They were perfectly logical arguments, but they did little to assuage the apprehension in her mind. She sighed, leaning back to look at the ceiling. _Maybe I should make some excuse so that I don't have to go out tonight. There's still time._ This was the—thousandth? Ten thousandth?—time she'd thought about excusing herself, but she knew deep down that she wouldn't go through with it. Even if she didn't go this time, there'd have to be a next time, unless she just wanted to wash her hands of him entirely and forget the whole matter. Every time she thought about it, a little voice in the back of her head piped up: _Don't you like him?_

 _I do_ , she sighed again, pressing her cheek against the rim of the tub. She liked him _a lot_. She liked him far too much to let anyone else take their chance at him, to be sure. She only had to think of that group of girls that surrounded him in the streets, and how they'd behave if they knew he was looking for a girlfriend, and it filled her with enough resolve to go through with this date. Just the thought of them fighting over him made her jealous, she grudgingly admitted to herself. She chewed her lip, tugging harder on her hair until some of it came out and hung loosely from her fingers.

She wondered, not for the first time, how a hotheaded goof like him could ever get so popular in the eyes of the townspeople. It was probably his looks, wasn't it? He was one of the better looking Labyrinthians. And he did have a soft heart…and charisma…and the more she thought about it, she enjoyed the warm timbre of his voice, too— She blushed and ducked back down into the water, trying to pretend that the steam was what put the red in her face, even though there was no one to fool but herself. _How embarrassing!_ If she didn't get her head on straight soon, she was going to be in big trouble.

 _As though you weren't in trouble already_ , the little inner voice remarked snidely. _After all…_. Her fingers brushed absently over her collarbone as she thought. She could still feel his calloused fingers there, and his lips, and the teeth gently biting down—she put a shaking hand to her forehead, even redder than before. What on earth had come over her yesterday, that she freely let him do such lewd things to her without a single word of reproach? Hadn't they been _arguing_ before he started…what, even? Seducing her?

She sighed again. He probably didn't think of it that way. He had such a light, innocent heart. _Not entirely innocent, though_ …. She clicked her tongue irritably, resting her head on her arm as she stared over the rim of the tub at the plush fabric of her towel lying nearby. Surely she had better standards than letting him have his way with her in an open field, didn't she? Then again, at the time, it was wonderful. She frowned darkly, trying to find someone to place the blame on for her wanton behavior. _It was Espella, with that stupid book; no, it was_ _ **him**_ _, he's supposed to be a gentleman!_ But that wasn't really it, either.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" she grumbled to the air, reaching out to run her hand over the towel's soft lining. "If he were to come in right now and ask to do it again, I'd probably let him." What had happened to her? Was she really in that deep?

 _Yes. Yes I am._

When she finally emerged from the bath and stood in front of her bureau, she realized that she had nothing to wear on a date. She didn't even know if he was taking her somewhere fancy or more casual. What was she supposed to wear? For all she knew, he'd show up in his armor. _I wouldn't put it past him, wearing a full set of armor on a date._ She tentatively pulled out an outfit, shutting the door and holding it up to herself in the mirror. She stared at her reflection a moment before tossing the outfit onto the bed and pulling out the next in line. Eventually, all her clothing was strewn across the bed and the floor, and the hangers in her bureau were creaking emptily in the barren space.

 _Maybe I should try them when my hair's dry_ , she thought, hoping that it might look better then. How was it that she suddenly had nothing to wear? She had never had problems with her wardrobe before, but now everything was too tight, too loose, too ugly, or she looked as though she was trying too hard. She sat down at the fireplace, letting the flames dry her hair as she brushed them evenly and basked in the warmth. _What's come over me? It's not as though he's going to be judging my outfit in a beauty contest or anything. I doubt he'll even notice it. Why then? Why do I feel the need to be…_ she paused, realization creeping over her. _Pretty. I want to look pretty._ Never before had she felt the need to look nice for anyone other than herself before. It was a strange new perception.

Eventually her hair was dry and brushed to a silky texture. She wandered back over to her wardrobe, staring down thoughtfully at the pieces before choosing a plain black sweater and plain white pants. She then put those back and chose a blue blouse and black pants instead. She put them on, looking at herself from all angles in the mirror and fluffing up her hair experimentally. She felt the flutter of anxiety growing again and forced herself to look away from the mirror. _I look fine. Now… boots, or sandals?_

Her fear of tripping came back tenfold and she chose the sandals, only because they had a shorter heel. She stared again at her reflection, nodding to herself and moving to the vanity. She had to do her hair now.

An hour later, she threw the brush down in frustration and buried her face in her arms. Every hairstyle she tried looked wrong! Even her usual hairstyle was proving to be difficult. _Why today, of all days, does my hair choose to be uncooperative!?_ While it was silky before, now all the brushing had dried it out and it fell in frizzy strands across her forehead and down her back, the top of her hair standing up with static. She finally wet it again and let it dry. _I'll just have to go with it down like this. But it doesn't look right, either._ With her hair down her cheeks looked less angular, softer, somehow; it gave her a different air that she wasn't sure she liked, but what else could she do?

If the clock hadn't chimed the hour, she might have stayed a little longer and primped some more—though it was unnecessary. As it was, if she left now she could enjoy a leisurely walk over to the crossroads and even get there ten minutes early. Despite it being Barnham, of all people, she still wanted to make a good impression, and punctuality was _ever_ so important when making impressions.

* * *

"Hey!"

He was already there when she arrived, smiling cheerfully when he spotted her coming around the bend in the road. She was almost envious of the easygoing manner of his stance, leaned against the crossroads sign, hands in his pockets as though he hadn't a care in the world. To her surprise (and relief) he wasn't dressed in armor, or even in anything formal. He just had on very casual clothes, even opting to leave the tie behind.

"H-Hello." She looked down at his shoes, feeling a blush rise to her face. Why did she feel so shy _now_ all of a sudden, considering all the time they'd spent over the last few days doing things far beyond the level of a mere dinner date?! She swallowed, clearing her throat. "Ahem…so, where are we going to eat?" She managed to look up at his face, only to be taken aback by the mischievous grin there.

"About that…'tis a surprise, so—" He walked around behind her as he spoke, and she expected him to push her ahead of him towards town. What she _didn't_ expect was the cloth that was suddenly over her eyes, startling her into giving a sort of half-gasp. He tied it quickly and she stood without a word, rendered immobile and speechless from sheer surprise. "You'll have to trust me, alright?"

"A-alright?" she repeated in almost the same tone, nearly falling flat on her face when he grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. "Are you kidnapping me or something?" she asked, trying to sound put out and irritated. Her voice came out puzzled and worried instead, and she inwardly cursed her own nerves. He laughed, but didn't answer. She tried to gauge where he might be taking her by the steps they took and the sounds around her, but he was either leading her in circles to throw her off the path, or she just wasn't as good as guesswork as she thought she was, since she had no idea where they were.

"Oh, hang on, I have to unlock…" he let go of her hand and she stood still again, this time to keep from accidentally running into anything without having a guide. She thought about peeking beneath the blindfold, but something within her stopped her hand from moving up to adjust the cloth. It was the strangest thing; she was actually _excited_ by the uncertainty of it, of not knowing where she was or what he was about to do to her (though she hoped he really meant on buying her dinner, considering how hungry she was). She heard a door creak loudly and then he took her by the arm again, leading her up a set of stairs and only letting go long enough to lock the door again behind them. "Tis not much farther now."

She was walking on stone now, and the air around was cool. It was familiar, too; wherever they were, she'd been here before. She listened for any sign that would be a clue to their whereabouts, but she couldn't hear anything other than their own footsteps on the stone echoing in the space around her. She sniffed, but there wasn't a smell of food, either. Where were they? He led her through another creaky door, and this one sounded even more familiar than her footsteps on the floor. She paused uncertainly, trying to place the sound with a source, or a place.

"Can I look now?" she asked as he shut the door behind them again.

"Hang on…." She heard him shuffle around somewhere in front of her, and then to her right. She turned her head to follow him, ears straining for the slightest noise. "Almost…okay…now." She reached behind her for the knot, prying it apart with her fingernails and shaking her hair out as she pulled away the cloth to see…her office.

"W-what?" she looked around, realizing why it was all so familiar. She'd only come here every day for the past (what felt like) century. Even her own office door's creak was so familiar that she had recognized it immediately, though just had trouble putting it to an actual building. "I thought we were—" She looked over to see him standing by what appeared to be an indoor picnic; every square inch of cloth laid out on the floor was covered with a platter of some sort. There were at least three different types of meats, vegetables galore, something pickled, something swimming in gravy, extra gravy, rolls, breads, things she recognized from the bakery, things she didn't recognize as edible in the slightest…. It was more than her eyes could take in.

"Ta-da!" he exclaimed, waving his hands at the spread as though he'd made it appear by magic. "It took some doing, but I finally managed to get it all together!" He beamed at her, clearly expecting her to be impressed. And she was… to an extent. But she was more confused than anything else.

"Who—did you cook all this?" she asked hesitantly, looking doubtfully at the picnic. Surely he didn't expect her to eat all this, did he? She was hungry, but there was enough food here to feed the entire garrison twice over!

"No!" he laughed, shaking his head. "I was originally going to take you to Rouge's tavern, but—" A shadow passed over his face as he looked away. "It gets a little shifty in there after dark, and I'd hate to have to hurt someone for looking at you the wrong way, if you understand what I mean."

"Rouge cooked all this food?" He nodded.

"I had her to cook it earlier and then I carried it here. It took me three trips…and I made the dessert myself," he added helpfully, motioning to a covered basket. "I've really improved since working at the bakery, so I thought it was the least I could do for—" He cleared his throat suddenly. "Er, well, anyway…let's eat!" Without further ado, he plopped down on one side of the quilt and grabbed an empty platter and a plate of what looked like braised beef. She looked around before kneeling down on the other end of the quilt, picking up a chicken thigh and biting into it experimentally.

"Do you like it?" he asked hopefully, voice muffled around his mouthful of food.

"It's… good," she admitted, taking another bite. His smile got even wider and he pushed a plate of vegetables towards her.

"Try these too, then. They're my favorite. I'm not sure how she gets that much flavor into the onions, but—"

Eve sat quietly, hardly speaking as she ate a little of everything on the blanket. Rouge was truly a magnificent cook, for a simple tavern owner. Eve had half a mind to ask her for the recipe for that chicken; it had nearly fallen off the bone, it was so tender. She allowed Barnham to rattle on about this and that, filling the silence with mindless chatter. It wasn't unwanted prattle; he spoke more now than she'd heard him say in weeks, and she was grateful of the fact. While half of what he said was borderline nonsense, the various anecdotes he told about the bakery's customers _were_ funny. However, her silence didn't go unnoticed.

"Are you alright?" She looked up from her napkin, spread neatly across her pants and frayed from where she had been plucking the ends. "You haven't said five words altogether since we sat down." He looked worried.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "I was just thinking about how nice this is…" she looked around. "To be like this, I mean." He looked around as well, brow wrinkling in confusion.

"On the floor?" he asked tentatively, unsure of her meaning.

"No, I meant—" She began to tug at her hair again, winding it around her fingers. "Together, I guess. I don't know." She didn't know how to put her emotions into words; she never had to when she spoke to Espella or the Storyteller.

"Oh." His lips twisted in a little half-smile. "Well, I like being with you too," he replied simply, without a hint of self-consciousness. It was as if he were merely stating a fact, like the weather. She had no clue how to respond, and before she knew it the silence between them grew awkward. She yanked even harder on her hair before remembering that she'd pulled some out earlier; if she didn't let up, she'd have split ends before she knew it. She forced herself to let go, but her fingers went straight back to her napkin and began fraying the ends again. He watched her silently for a while before laughing quietly.

"What?" she asked, looking up at him accusingly. What was he laughing at her for? He looked away, scratching his head sheepishly.

"I know Espella told me that you were shy, and in the stables you were very shy but I—I just didn't think you were _this_ shy." He turned to face her again, continuing to laugh. "It's actually really cute."

"Cu—! I-I'm not cute!" she snapped, feeling her cheeks burn. Why did he have to go and say things like that? It only made it that much harder to keep from blushing! "And anyway, I wasn't shy in the stables, I was just— _off guard_ , is all! I mean, you just tried to kiss me out of nowhere!" This recollection seemed to fluster him; everything from the tips of his ears to his chin became pink-tinged and his smile faltered.

"I honestly didn't mean for it to catch you off guard," he said quietly. "And I think you're cute anyway. It's just when you get bashful that you become even cuter."

"I'm _not_ cute," she repeated firmly, smacking her fist on one thigh.

"You're cute when you're angry, too," he continued, ignoring her completely. "And in the end you kissed me at the bakery, so aren't we even? It should cancel out."

"Cancel out!? This isn't a debt you owe, Zacharias!" She was beside herself now with embarrassment, trying to figure out how they'd even gotten on this topic in the first place. Was this really better than weird silences? "S-so what if I kissed you? What you did yesterday—no one date is going to just cancel that out!"

"What I did—what did I do yesterday?" he asked in puzzlement. Eve felt her eyes nearly pop out of her head, they went so wide. Was he toying with her, or had he really _forgotten_?!

"You—you…." she chewed her lip, unable to spit it out. "T-touched me."

"Oh!" He laughed louder this time, throwing his head back. "I thought you meant that I'd done something wrong!"

"Forcing yourself on a young lady in the middle of the day isn't wrong?" He hadn't technically forced himself anywhere, but she was never one to discuss particulars when she was on the winning side.

"I don't seem to recall you trying to shake me off," he pointed out plainly. "If I remember, you were the one that started yesterday, too. I just—" She stood up abruptly, hands on her hips. He stared up at her, his sentence trailing off as one brow rose questioningly.

"How dare you! What, do you take me for some sort of lewd-minded, raunchy lady of the night?" She crossed her arms and huffed, turning her back to him. "Some gentleman of knightly honor _you_ are."

"I'm as much a gentleman as you are a gentlewoman," he retorted. She opened her mouth, but then closed it almost immediately. If she said he wasn't, then she would be admitting to her own faults. But the opposite would be to concede that he was a gentleman after all. "Besides, I only think of you as Eve, and Eve's not lewd."

"Of course I'm not," she agreed with a sniff. "I don't act on such thoughts; I am a _lady_."

"You ought to act on them." Only now was there any hint of timidity in his tone. "I don't think I'd say no." She felt her face heating up again and hunched her shoulders. How did he always find the words that she had no answer for? She started to sigh, but it was cut off in a sharp yelp as he grabbed her up in a bear hug, squeezing tightly and rocking her from side to side. "Cheer up, Eve!" he ordered, kissing her wetly on the cheek. She tried to wipe it off, but he had her where she couldn't reach her shoulder up to rub her face against her blouse. "Go ahead and say we're not even. You can blame it all on me if you really want to."

"That's—ungh—that's not how it works!" she groaned, barely able to breathe. He really was strong; when he acted so childish around her, she forgot that he was a grown man used to carrying heavy armor and weapons, not to mention hefting around sacks of flour and sugar. "Let me down!" He obeyed, setting her back on her feet and allowing her to turn around before yanking her close again. She suppressed the urge to slap him, and somehow found her head resting on his chest instead.

"Whatever you say." It was strange to hear his voice echoing in his chest as well as outside. He was warm against her face, and with his arms slung loosely around her she felt… _nice_. It felt nice. "Did-did you enjoy the dinner?" She nodded, her cheek rubbing against the scratchy fabric of his shirt.

"Yes." And it wasn't a lie; she had enjoyed it, despite all her misgivings.

"So you'd do it again with me sometime?" he asked hopefully.

"…Yes." She didn't look up, but she could almost feel the full force of his ecstasy without having to see it written all over his goofy face. She rolled her eyes, but didn't pull away; she didn't see any need to. He was quiet a moment, and then she felt his fingers running gently though her hair.

"I like your hair being down like this," he murmured, sounding entranced by whatever it was he saw in her locks. "There's just so much of it; it makes you even—"

"If you say cuter, I'm going to punch you in the gut," she warned.

"Prettier," he finished, changing his sentence on a dime. She inhaled sharply, but didn't hit him. _I see now I'm going to have to break him of that habit_ , she thought to herself, ignoring the fact that deep down, she didn't mind his compliments as much as she wished she did. She leaned up and was prepared to tell him once and for all to stop it, but the door to the office swung open in a smooth motion, surprising her. She jerked around and tried to make him let go, but he didn't seem to see the need to let her step away just yet.

"Oi. It's me." Rouge stood there, one hand on her hip and the other raised in greeting.

"H-how'd you get in?" Barnham asked in confusion. He didn't seem to have the same problem Eve did with the tavern owner seeing them as close together as they were. "I had the door locked."

"I know it," the woman replied offhandedly, holding up a bobby pin. "Now it's not. Look, I need that back," she said suddenly, walking to the quilt and picking up the largest of the stew pots. "There; you two can go back to screwing around or whatever now. Bye." She turned without another word and walked in the direction of the door.

"What!? Screwing around!? We're not! We weren't! I wasn't going to—!" Eve's shoulders slumped as the man floundered, turning pale in the face of such blatant slander (in his eyes, at least).

"Miss Rouge," she said quietly, calling the woman back. Rouge turned and looked inquiringly at her.

"Hmm?" They both ignored the still sputtering Barnham.

"Thank you very much for the food." The woman's eyes widened and she looked genuinely surprised that anyone was showing her some gratitude for her service. For a moment her confident demeanor wavered, but she recovered more quickly than her knightly friend did.

"I'm— glad you enjoyed it." Eve nodded.

"The chicken was delicious."

"It's my own secret recipe." Rouge's chest puffed with pride. "That's years of trial and error in action."

"Is it too secret for me to know how it's done?" Rouge gave a sly grin.

"I tell you what: come down to the tavern sometime after closing, and I'll let you in on it. Only," she added, holding up a finger, "if you promise on your death to keep it to yourself and never share it with anyone. I can't be losing business because of one ex-Inquisitor."

"No." This was Barnham, having made a miraculous recovery at Rouge's statement. "No, she'll not be going anywhere near that place when the sun's down." Both women stared incredulously at him.

"And who's gonna stop her? You?" Rouge's brows went nearly to her hairline and she clucked, shaking her head as she turned away. "I see you haven't figured out who holds the reins yet," she laughed as she walked out, shutting the door behind her.

"I can go if I want," Eve started, once they heard the sound of her boots echoing down the hall. Barnham shook his head.

"It's too dangerous." His hand found its way back to her hair again, stroking it as though it were the most delicate thing in the world. "You have no idea of the kind of ruffians that go to that alley. It's not at all like you'd think; Rouge is only safe because they're all deathly afraid of what she'd do to them if they did something wrong."

"Do you not think that I can protect myself?" she responded heatedly. It was as if she hadn't been living on her own and caring for an entire town for all those years! Did he really think her to be weak? _Maybe I should show him just how_ _ **weak**_ _I really am_.

"Of course not!" he answered in a placating voice. "It's just…" He rested his cheek against her temple, drawing her even closer before leaning down to speak in a low tone close to her ear. "It's just that _I_ want to be the one protecting you."

"O-oh." They were both quiet for a long moment, the only sound the crackling of the flames in the sconces that lit the room. "Well, I suppose that you can," she finally said in a quiet voice. He leaned back to look at her, one hand cupping her jaw. His thumb grazed her lower lip and a shiver ran down her spine, a melting feeling spreading through her limbs. He bent his head and her lashes fluttered, head tilting—

"Hey, I'm back. Forgot the platter." This time he did let her go, and she nearly burst into laughter at the look of pure exasperation on his face.

"Are you sure you're not just being nosy?" he accused irritably. Rouge stopped, glaring at him with cold eyes.

"Listen here, lover-boy: If I wanted to hear two people going at it, I'd rent the top room out a lot more," she declared icily. "As it is, I honestly don't care if you've got her on the desk or not; if I have to walk in, I'm going to walk in. I _needed_ my _platter_." She turned to Eve. "Sorry to bother you again, Lady Darklaw."

"It's fine," Eve said, without really thinking. She wasn't going to say it wasn't fine; she could see now why the cutthroats were scared of this woman. Rouge nodded stiffly and then walked out the door, this time slamming it. Barnham scoffed and shook his head before looking at her awkwardly.

"Well….Um…."

"You know, since you want to protect me and all," Eve said teasingly, "I could probably use an escort home. Who knows how many witches might be hiding behind the trees."

"Ah. Right." He cleared his throat and grabbed her hand. "I'll just clean this up when I get back," he muttered. "If Rouge doesn't decide to just come and get the lot whenever she needs something."

* * *

 **Afterword:** I actually had a tough time with this chapter. You can blame Eve.


	6. Denial and Acceptance

"Even with all the interruptions, it was a good night," Eve said.

He was embarrassed; she could tell. The entire walk home had been an almost silent one, with him holding the lantern for them as he walked her back through the forest and to her front door. She could see him in the quick flashes of moonlight drifting down through the trees, his eyes dark and his face pinched in annoyance. He was still angry with Rouge, she was sure. Nevertheless, she _had_ had a nice time, even if it had been a little hectic near the end.

"Aye… I just…" he mumbled the rest under his breath, offering a one-shouldered shrug as he gazed across the moonbeam-illuminated fields. In the dark, the flowers took on an eerie, yet beautiful glimmer from the dew resting on their fragile petals.

"You just what?" she tilted her head, crossing her arms. "You've completed your mission—you gave me an interesting, if not fun evening. That's the purpose of a date, isn't it?" He jumped at the word 'date', looking askance at her, but after a moment he began to smile.

"You _really_ had a nice time?" he asked self-consciously. "Even with me making you angry, and Rouge barging in the way she did?"

"I told you as much back at the office," she pointed out. "I had a nice dinner, and I'd have no qualms about doing it again."

"Oh." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the lantern swinging loosely from his fingers. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again with a frown. She watched him, fascinated by the emotions parading across his features; he was working through some sort of internal struggle. "Alright then. As long as you're not angry, I suppose 'tis fine." His frown deepened and her own mouth pulled at the corners in response. He was acting strangely, despite his assertion that everything was fine.

A momentary flutter quailed in her chest—was he waiting on her? Was there some post-date protocol that she hadn't done yet? Her mind flipped rapidly through every book she read, every play she'd watched, even a few stories some of the others girls had told Espella within her hearing; there was nothing she could think of, other than the—ah, the goodnight kiss was the only thing lacking, wasn't it? Was he waiting on a cue, perhaps?

"Well?" she remarked in a tight, controlled voice. "Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye before you go?" Hopefully, she wouldn't give away the fact that she was looking forward to a nice kiss, in a place where they wouldn't be bothered by certain bartenders. Surely, surely he couldn't mess up a simple goodnight kiss, right? She thought of the previous day, eyes absently drawn to the other side of the field where her back had been pressed against the cool grass, and fought to keep the color from rising to her cheeks.

"O-oh! Right… of course!" He laughed suddenly, catching her off-guard and forcing her to take a step back. "What sort of boyfriend would I be if I didn't do that?" he added unnecessarily, almost as though he were scolding himself. She sighed, shaking her head. He really was an open book, from the nervous gleam in his eye to the self-conscious chuckles that went on a little too long. And 'boyfriend'? What were they, primary schoolers? Then again, perhaps 'lovers' was too heavy a term, and there weren't many other things to call him. Maybe having a boyfriend wouldn't be too childish….

"I'm still waiting," she prompted when he finally fell still. This led to another, less hearty laugh as he looked away, gathering himself. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"Of course you are," he replied in an entirely different tone, opening his eyes again as he looked her way. She was taken aback by the new expression in them—not entirely determination, but… what? It was almost the same as the look he'd given her in the stables, after she'd pseudo-apologized for rejecting his on-the-spot kiss. "It's called 'anticipation'."

"Hnn…is that what this is?" she countered dryly, arching a brow. "Somehow, I don't think you're doing it right." His smile froze, faltered, and then came back full force. He reached out, grabbing her hand in a light, yet firm grip.

"Isn't it?" he purred, pulling her towards him. Her breath caught in her throat and she tried in vain to force her lungs into motion, mouth falling open as he ran the fingers of his other hand along her chin. "Aren't you on the edge of your seat?" he whispered, the lantern caught between their hands casting a strange shadow over his face. _I am now… damn you!_ She desperately tried to keep any semblance of being affected by his tone out of her expression, but he seemed to know anyway. "Well, Eve?"

"Yes?" she murmured, the words barely heard over the sounds of the night. She found herself leaning forward instinctively into his touch, wanting him to keep his hands on her. A smaller part of her was angry that he could do this sort of magic, keeping her thoughts focused on him alone and undoing every wall she'd worked to build up for years against him, or _anyone_ for that matter. Who was he, to impose himself on her in that sort of way? To make her want him this badly? _Then again,_ she amended halfheartedly, _he never asked me to fall for him. I did that myself._

"Good night," he said softly, tilting her head with a gentle motion and kissing the side of her jaw. " _Good night_ ," he repeated, even more quietly than before. His body was already moving away from hers, but her hands reached out of their own accord, clutching at his shirt and pulling him back to her, her arms around his neck as though she had every right to drape herself on him. He sighed contentedly, pulling her as flush to him as they could possibly get, his own strong arms winding around her waist and tangling in her hair.

"Kiss me," she demanded, unable to meet his eyes and hating herself for it. "Kiss me everywhere." It was now softened to a plea; she didn't want him to leave, even if she had insisted on a goodbye kiss. "You said you wanted to." His arms tightened around her in response. "Don't you?"

"I do," he affirmed, before leaning down and pressing his lips to her forehead briefly. They moved over her skin, saying her name without truly speaking. She shivered and rested her back against the front door, eyes falling shut as he whispered words of love to her, practically _worshipping_ her as he worked his way down to her neck. "I want you." _I want you, too_ , she thought, but something deep within her caught the words before they left her mouth and kept them hidden.

"D-don't stop," she gasped when he hesitated near her collarbone, leaning up to look her in the eyes and silently ask for permission to continue. She wanted to feel his lips everywhere on her: on every finger, her legs, breasts, on her stomach, her shoulders, between her thighs—she shivered again. _This,_ _ **this**_ _is anticipation; you're doing it right now, Zacharias_. "Stay with me," she managed to say, voice shaky. "Stay here, with me."

"I wish that I could," he whispered regretfully, his face buried in the crook of her shoulder. "I truly do."

"Why can't you?" she protested, pressing him to her as her mind tried to work over the sentence. There was no reason he technically _couldn't_ stay; he had no pressing matters to attend to. She didn't want him to leave, not now….

"Mrs. Eclaire will be expecting me back at the bakery," he explained softly. "I can't just leave her waiting up for me." He pulled away from her slowly, detangling his limbs from around her. She felt her arms fall from his shoulders, but they seemed too heavy now to attempt to pull him back. He picked up the lantern from where he'd set it earlier at their feet, the light playing off his features. He squeezed her hand one last time before turning to leave, letting it slip from his grasp. He turned at the gate and walked towards the forest without looking back.

She watched until the glow of the lantern was completely gone, disappeared behind the tree line and then further; in her mind, the wall, the town, each house that stood between them the farther away he walked…. She slumped back against the door, swallowing the lump in her throat as her heart beat almost painfully against her ribcage. After a moment, she felt for the door handle and let herself in, shutting behind her without a sound.

She climbed the stairs one by one, her feet dragging as she made it to the landing, then down the hall, then to her bedroom door. She sat on the bed, pulling her shoes off one foot at the time. They clattered on the wooden floor by the foot of the bed; she didn't bother putting them back in their proper place. The room was pitch black, but it took no effort to find the lamp, her fingers sliding along the edge of the table until she found the matches as well. Her hands shook slightly as she lit the wick, guarding it from any drafts with her palm until it caught the oil and sputtered to light the room in a semi-darkness filled with dancing shadows.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror and stared. Just earlier that evening, she'd looked at her reflection with nervousness, wondering if she looked like a proper date should. Now, the lone figure in the mirror couldn't possible fill it up, and she saw a single tear roll down her cheek with detached surprise. It was almost as though the reflection wasn't herself.

 _Why am I crying?_ She wiped the tear away, turning the question over in her mind as she lay back on the bed, placing her hands on her stomach and staring at the flickering light on the ceiling. _Why? What's changed? It's not as though I won't see him tomorrow._ She pondered over that single tear, emptiness gathering in her belly and spreading through her limbs until there was a dark, bottomless pit where her intestines should have been. _I was so close,_ another part of her mind said sadly. _I was so close, and I was_ _ **ready**_ _. That was what changed._

She turned over onto her side, drawing her knees up and pressing her cheek into her pillow. _So close…_ she repeated over and over, the sound echoing in her head until it became a cataclysmic symphony. _You didn't want him before yesterday_ , another, more logical part of her mind said in a very brusque, Darklaw-esque tone. _Not like this, anyway. Isn't it too soon to be pining over the rejection of a single night, when he gave such a straightforward reason? What did you expect to happen, anyway? What sort of girl sleeps with someone on the first night? What would people think?_

 _But it's_ _ **not**_ _the first night, is it?_ the other part of her argued, and her heart ached in agreement. _Even in the stables, and earlier that day, when he held my hand…._

 _You stopped him from kissing you, didn't you?_

 _I was caught off-guard!_ The same argument she'd used to him; a mental image of his face when she rejected him flashed in her mind and she winced. _I didn't know what to expect. I never thought… I never thought it could be like that._

 _Ah, yes—you didn't think. And now look where you are, poor little Inquisitor._ The cold voice laughed. _Disappointed, heartbroken, alone. That's what comes of opening your heart to people, isn't it? Isn't it much better to be alone by choice?_

 _I… don't know. I'm… I'm not heartbroken. Why am I even fighting with myself over this?_

 _Because his excuse was first rate, but it was still just that. An_ _ **excuse**_ _._ Her fingers clutched the pillow and she frowned.

 _But… for him—I think he was sincere. Even for an excuse._

 _Think that if you want. If you want to stay blind to the truth, go ahead. After all, it wasn't as though you were an icy, heartless woman to him for so many years. He threw daggers at your likeness and everything! And you were the one who locked him away when he was innocent, not to mention you—_

 _Shut up!_ She buried her face in the pillow, trying to block out the sound of her own misgivings. _Just shut up!_ She pushed her face further into the soft, cool fabric, unable to breathe. Then, just as she thought her lungs might implode from the pressure, she heard something. Lifting her head up, she listened and heard it again. Someone…at the door? Who, this late in the evening, was coming for her? Was something wrong? She forced her legs to swing off the bed, brushing back her hair and wiping her face with her palms before heading downstairs, taking the lamp with her.

The knocking continued as she made her way down the staircase. She paused at the bottom of the landing, listening for a voice or any sound of who it might possibly be. She crept up to the door, part of her remembering serious talks with her father about crooks and criminals coming to burglarize her home in the dead of night. _A woman alone, no matter how powerful, is still in danger. Take care, Eve._ She cautiously rose onto her tiptoes and peeked through the peephole, hoping the moon was still bright enough to illuminate her nighttime visitor. She saw who it was and took a deep breath before opening the door.

"Hehe, it seems as though Mrs. Eclaire didn't wait up for me after all…." Eve said nothing, continuing to stare blankly at him. He cleared his throat. "Erm, I thought… that your house—well, I mean that 'tis more comfortable, no—I'd rather be here with you than staying at Rouge's all night because the door to the bakery is locked and I forgot my keys and Espella sleeps too deeply to hear the rocks I was throwing at her window so that she would go downstairs and let me in!" he finished in a rush. He looked up at her now, his boots somehow no longer catching his interest now that his piece was said. To her surprise, his look transitioned from sheepishness to concern. "Eve? What's wrong? Your eyes are…" He paused.

"Nothing's wrong," she lied. "You can stay on the sofa in the sitting room. I don't mind."

"Eve." His hand reached for hers, and she wasn't able to pull back in time. "Please, tell me what's wrong. You were fine just a few minutes ago, weren't you? You said—"

"I know what I said!" she snapped, jerking her hand away. He let it go, and she instantly felt bad when she caught the sad, confused expression on his face. _Great, now I've made everything worse._ "On second thought, maybe it's best if you go to Rouge's after all. I can't…I don't want you to feel obligated to stay here."

"Obligated?" he repeated, bafflement in every syllable. "What are you talking about?" She placed the lamp on the foyer table, her hand caressing the wood. "Eve?"

"D-don't feel like you have to be with me, that's all I'm saying!" she growled, staring down at the grain of the wood.

"What on earth do you mean?!" he protested in the same tone, taking a step closer to her. "I want to be with you because I _like_ you, alright?"

"How _can_ you like me?!" she barked, turning on him in an instant. "There's no reasoning behind you liking _me_. I locked you away in a dungeon, I was mean to you for all those years… Zacharias, we hated each other! We can't just go from that to loving each other in the span of a few weeks, not even a few _years_!" He stood in the face of her onslaught, eyes wide. When she was finished, the silence grew between them, punctuated only by her harsh breathing.

"I never hated you," he disagreed gently. "Did you… did you hate me?" She closed her eyes, but had no choice but to shake her head no. "Then what's the matter?"

"I don't _know_ ," she admitted. "I don't know what I want, or what I'm doing, or how I'm supposed to act. I don't know anything anymore, especially not when it comes to this." She gestured between them, as though their relationship was something concrete, that they could both see.

"Well… I don't know either," he replied. "I'm of the mind that no one knows. But no one can know everything, can they?" He stepped closer until his sandals touched her toes, his fingers carefully pushing her chin until she looked him in the eyes. "But I do know that I put you above every other person in town, and even though you don't deserve me—"

"I don't deserve you," she corrected automatically. _Can't he get his words right?_

"I know you don't," he winked, and she felt her cheeks glow as she realized that she'd fallen into a trap. She pursed her lips, but despite her melancholy one corner twitched into a quick, if not halfhearted smile. He grinned. "I know I like making you smile, and 'tis all that matters to me. I can figure the rest out later." He tilted his head. "Does that answer satisfy you?"

"It doesn't matter whether or not it satisfies me. It matters whether you mean it or not." He grabbed both her hands, squeezing them tightly between his.

"I mean it," he swore, and the sincerity of it made her heart skip a beat.

"Okay," she conceded quietly.

"Okay!" he echoed. "And I'll tell you as often as you need, until there's no doubt left in your mind. 'Tis a promise." She didn't answer, only closing the space between them until her head rested against his chest, the same way it had earlier that night. His arms hugged her tightly and they stayed that way until she felt considerably better, the emptiness filling with something akin to contentment.

"Let's see about getting you set up on the sofa," she said when she grew too hot, pulling away from his warm body and trying to remember where she had put all the spare blankets. "I think I have some bedclothes in the upstairs closet…." She murmured to herself, taking the lamp from the table.

"You know," he said slowly, clearing his throat again, " _ahem_ … I might get frightened, down here in the dark by myself, in a house I'm not entirely familiar with…." She hesitated, turning back to him.

"You're in the Order of Knights," she said quickly. "I trust you can keep yourself protected. And I'll be right upstairs if you need me." He sighed, following her to the foot of the stairs and resting his head on the banister.

"Perhaps… but it's chilly down here on the first floor," he called up to her. She reached the landing and looked back down at him.

"I'll be sure to get some extra quilts for you," she promised. From the light of the lamp, she could see his shoulders slump, the epitome of frustrated looks crossing his face. She turned away before he could see her lips twitching more. _Apparently he does enjoy making me smile_ , she thought to herself.

 _He might have been saying that to appease you,_ the darker side of her mind put in. _You have no way of knowing if he's telling the truth._

 _I don't know,_ she admitted to herself. _But that's alright, for now._ She found the blankets that she was looking for, and tucked them under her arm as she headed back downstairs. He was still waiting at the foot of the stairs, and stopped her with one arm between her and the landing, his palm resting on the far wall.

"How can I kiss you if I'm down here, and you're up there?" he asked seriously. "I can't hold you, either."

"Your arguments are infallible, Zacharias, but you're still sleeping on the sofa." She ducked beneath his arm. "I'm not letting you into my bedroom when we've only had one date."

"Then at least lie here until I've fallen asleep." He was nearing pleading territory now. "Don't be heartless, show some mercy… it really is cold down here." He helped her drape a sheet across the sofa, keeping one of the throw pillows as a headrest.

"Fine," she groaned, not unkindly. "But just until you fall asleep. And don't you dare try anything." Of course, deep down she was brimming with a small joy all her own, one that burned out the dark voice in her mind and dimmed it, if not got rid of it entirely. All her complaints and nagging was a show, for him, to help him discern his boundaries.

He was all smiles now, flopping down on the cushions as she blew out the lamp, leaving them in the cool moonlight drifting in from the window. She crawled up beside him, allowing him to drag the two quilts she'd brought over them both, his arms wrapping around her and holding her close. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, quietly reveling in the comfort that came from being in the arms of someone she cared about.

 _I don't know much about this sort of thing… but I'll find out. With him._

* * *

 **Afterword** : it became darker! I had a hard time with this chapter. I rewrote it a bunch, and it steadily became darker. I finally finished it today, after reading a really good fanfic that made me want to write more. (thumbs up) Hope you enjoyed! Now I can add another story to my 'Finished' list.


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